Crimson Skies
by Francesca Monterone
Summary: "So sending me gifts and roses is some weird Russian code for 'I really want to hurt you?"
1. Vienna: Russia's Little Problem

**Title:** Crimson Skies  
><strong>Fandom:<strong> Hetalia Axis Powers  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Romance/Angst  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Russia/Canada, with side dishes of US/UK, Germany/N. Italy, Spain/S. Italy, and Prussia/Austria  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I don't own Hetalia. If I did, Francis would actually have a French name.

**Summary:** Ivan's in love! And with Matthew, of all people. Not only will this get him in trouble with Alfred (and Arthur, and Francis), but there's also that little problem about his reputation. How will he convince Matthew of his sudden change of heart, when nearly everybody believes him to be a bloodthirsty lunatic? - Matthew, on the other hand, finds himself attracted to the most unlikely of nations. Is he just crazy, or might there be more to Ivan than meets the eye? Both set out to get some relationship advise from their fellow nations and embark on a journey that will not only lead them halfway across the globe, but also closer to each other...

* * *

><p><em>Part I: Vienna<em>

A black-liveried servant showed Ivan into the large house, just a couple of streets away from the _Stephansplatz_ and right at the center of Vienna. He stepped into a semi-dark hallway that smelled of old wood, wax and freshly cut flowers.

"Master Edelstein is awaiting you in the music room," the servant informed him.

Ivan rolled his eyes, but made sure that the woman would not see it. _Of course. Where else would he be?_

He followed the servant up a flight of stairs to the first floor, through another hallway and stepped into the indicated room. It was furnished as tastefully and luxuriously as the rest of the house, but the primary piece of furniture was the magnificent grand piano that stood on a raised platform right in the middle of the room.

Roderich was in the midst of playing the third movement of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's Sonata No. 11, his hands dancing across the black and white keys as if they were detached from the rest of his body. He looked happy, but Ivan couldn't tell whether it was because of the cheerfulness the music conveyed, or because Roderich was always happy when he played the piano. Gilbert would have known, he suspected.

At Ivan's entry, he did not turn, but calmly finished playing the piece. Ivan, who was not entirely surprised by this treatment, stood by the door and waited for him to finish, cocking his head slightly and enjoying the music. Even though he was not nearly as obsessed with music as Roderich, he did enjoy a good performance. There were many famous Russian musicians and composers and Ivan had always admired their works.

When Roderich finally turned, he acknowledged Ivan with a slight nod. "Ivan. You are right on time." It sounded faintly surprised.

Ivan shrugged, and it looked as if an earthquake ran through his large body. He was about twice Roderich's size, but the Austrian seemed unperturbed. In fact, he seemed to be one of the few people who did not appear to be uncomfortable around Ivan. He was not overly friendly either, but Ivan preferred indifference to outright hatred or contempt. Fear could be fun, too, but not when you needed to carry on a serious conversation with the person in question.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet me," he said.

"You are welcome." Roderich got up, stretched, then studied him from clear, intelligent eyes. His sharp intellect and his objectivity were two more reasons that had motivated Ivan to choose him for this particular conversation.

"I find myself in a bit of a quandary," he told the Austrian, judging it best to be forthright.

"Oh?" Roderich quirked an inquisitive brow. "Please, take a seat. I should be happy to help you, if it is in my power."

"I'm not sure it is," Ivan replied. "But I come to you for advice, because you are somewhat experienced in those matters."

"What are you referring to?"

Ivan swallowed hard. He had come prepared, but actually talking about his problem to somebody – anybody – was harder than he had imagined it to be.

"Matters of the heart", he said finally.

Roderich seemed even more surprised, but there was also a glint of curiosity in his eyes. "You do surprise me," he said, "Apart from the fact that I'm not sure if you even have a heart – I seem to recall that you had some medical issues there – I never thought that you would lose it to anyone."

"And yet I have," Ivan relied quietly. "Or what's left of it, anyway."

"To a human?" Roderich inquired. It was not unheard of that a nation should fall in love with a human, even though it was always a delicate and usually a tragic matter.

Ivan shook his head.

"Another nation, then," Roderich mused, nodding. "Then it would make sense that you thought of consulting me, since I am one of the few of us who went through two marriages. There have not been that many lasting nation-nation relationships, have there? Let's see – France and England, Lithuania and Poland, Spain and Southern Italy, even though Romano would deny it, if you asked him… maybe Germany and Northern Italy, even though that is rather recent and I'm not sure you could even call it a relationship. And then of course, my marriage to Antonio and Elizaveta, even though the first did not go so well, we are simply too different… everything else has been either one-sided or rather short-lived, I think. So… who is the one you would like to give the remnants of your heart to?"

"Matthew."

Roderich frowned. "Excuse me, who? I don't seem to remember a nation that goes by that name."

"Canada," Ivan growled, slightly exasperated. Why was it so hard to remember that name? To him, it was starting to feel like a personal insult that everybody appeared to simply forget Matthew when he was not right in front of them.

"Oh… Alfred's brother, right? Son of Arthur and Francis – what an odd parentage, by the way… but he is so young, Ivan!" Roderich cast him a look laced with worry and disapproval. "Barely more than a child… and such a shy, quiet boy, too. It pains me to tell you this, but I think your attraction is misguided. If anything, you should consider a strong, older nation. Matthew is… well, he is just not right for you."

Ivan fully agreed with that last part, but nevertheless it hurt to hear the words spoken out loud.

"I know," he replied dejectedly, "but I can't help it."

"Hm," Roderich regarded him for a moment longer, then sighed. "Well… this is certainly a bit of interesting news. Let me think about it for a moment or two." He walked back to the piano, sat down and started to run his fingers across the keys. "My first, instinctive advice would be to let it drop and never mention it to anyone else, especially not to Matthew," he said, his back turned to Ivan. "But love can be a very resilient virus, especially, if it is unrequited."

Ivan idly wondered if Roderich himself had some experience in that department. It was not entirely impossible… he had always suspected that there was something more to Roderich's relationship with Gilbert than pranks and bickering.

Roderich began to play, and after half a minute or so, Ivan recognized the piece. It was the Adagio from Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.

"That music makes me sad," Ivan commented.

"I thought it rather fitting," Roderich replied, still playing, "it reflects the mood."

Ivan pondered that for a moment, before asking: "Yours or mine?"

"Both, I think."

* * *

><p><em>Some Notes:<br>Stephansplatz: A large square at the center of Vienna.  
>The music should be self-explanatory. You'll find various renditions of both pieces on youtube. People who regularly read my stories will notice that this is not the first time the Moonlight Sonata makes an appearance. I don't mean to be repetitive, it's just that it is one of my favorite pieces of music.<br>I hope, you enjoyed this chapter and that it made you curious. __Please review and tell me what you think!_


	2. London: How to Survive Tea with Arthur

… _Whoever had come up with the idea of holding a midwinter conference in Trondheim (probably the proud owner of the infernal place, aka Norway), Matthew swore that he would beat some sense into this person using his favorite hockey-stick. He was usually a peaceful, non-violent person, but the sheer idiocy of this entire thing made him furious. Besides, he was two hours late, because he had gotten lost on the way from Oslo to Trondheim and then stuck in a gigantic drift of snow on some backwoods road. Germany would so hate him, or at least the non-Prussian part of Germany would. Gilbert would probably not be there, and right now, Matthew really envied him.  
>He was so engrossed in contemplating his misery and thinking of what he could use as an excuse without making a fool of himself that the dark, nearly black sheet of ice covering most of the courtyard in front of the snug little conference building completely escaped his notice. He paid the price for his negligence almost instantly: before he had time to comprehend what was happening, he found himself lying in a heap on the ground and a sharp, agonizing pain shot through his right leg. He let out a small gasp, and then started cursing himself, Trondheim, Norway and the rest of the world, while hot tears shot to his eyes.<br>The sound of heavy steps forced him to look up and to his great surprise, he saw a large, solid, and rather furry mass advancing on a collision course at a reckless pace. Before Matthew could make sense of the image, he was scooped up. He felt soft, surprisingly warm fur against his cheek.  
>Looking up at his rescuer's face, Matthew froze in shock. Purple eyes were gazing down at him solemnly.<br>Russia. Of all the bad things that had happened to him today, this was certainly the worst.  
>"It is alright, little one," Ivan's deep voice rumbled in what Matthew assumed was supposed to be a soothing tone (it sounded rather terrifying), "You probably sprained your ankle. It hurts a little, but it is not so bad."<br>Apart from the fact that Matthew did not appreciate to be called 'little one', and especially not by Ivan, of all people, he thought that 'it is not so bad' was a severe understatement. His leg hurt like hell, he was cold, upset and supremely annoyed, and being carried around by a dangerous lunatic did not make things any better.  
>"Just let me down," he protested weakly.<br>Ivan seemed puzzled by this request. "But you are hurt. You cannot walk on your own."  
>He was probably right, but Matthew did not care to admit that. "Do you even know who I am?" He asked, feeling exasperated.<br>"You are Canada. Matvei… Matthew."  
>Matthew's eyes widened a little. "You remember my name?"<br>"Of course I do," Ivan replied irritably, "I am not an imbecile."  
>Way to go Matthew – on top of everything else, he had now managed to insult Russia…! "Oh… I… er… it's just that… the others usually forget who I am."<br>Ivan pondered that for a moment, before replying: "Then they are idiots. You have been around for some time – at least century, I believe, but I sometimes lose track of time – and I have seen you at a lot of meetings lately. Why would I not remember you?"  
>He had a point there, Matthew supposed, but those things hadn't kept all the others from constantly forgetting his name and existence.<br>"Besides," Ivan added in an afterthought, looking down at him with a creepily fond smile, "you are rather attractive."  
>Matthew then contemplated screaming for help, but came to the conclusion that if he did, Ivan would probably either drop him or kill him and neither sounded very appealing. Besides, if anybody ever doubted Ivan's predilection for terrified boys, he just had to ask the Baltic States about it. Or Poland. They could tell you stories that would make you weep with fright.<br>So maybe it was better not to show his fear? Maybe Ivan would lose interest if he appeared indifferent?  
>He tried to focus on the words, rather than on the person – nation – who had spoken them.<br>- You are rather attractive -  
>Matthew had never considered himself to be attractive. He knew that he looked very much like his brother Alfred and what more did you need to say on the subject? Besides, Francis had told him early on that 'while you are a most charming little boy, my son, you are a great disappointment when it comes to looks'. Parents could be very cruel…<br>"We are at the door to the meeting room," Ivan suddenly announced, and a second later, said door was pushed open and a number of voices filled Matthews ears, then stopped, only to erupt into a cacophony of sounds – shouts, gasps, the clatter of an overturned chair… from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a mop of unruly blond hair as his brother came rushing to his aid. "What did you do to him?" Alfred shouted, clearly misinterpreting what he saw. At that particular moment though, Matthew was grateful for it.  
>"Mathieu! <em>_Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé?" From the other side of the room, Francis came running, closely followed by Arthur.  
>"It's okay. I just… tripped."<br>"Let go of him!" Alfred demanded, and Ivan complied with a shrug. Carefully, he lowered Matthew and helped him to sit down on the nearest chair.  
>"What happened?" Ludwig's calm voice interjected.<br>"I slipped. Outside in the courtyard. I probably sprained my ankle. Russia… Ivan, was just trying to be helpful."  
>Everybody was staring from Matthew to Ivan and back now with varying degrees of disbelief showing on their faces. Predictably, Ludwig recovered first. "Do you require medical attention?" He asked Matthew.<br>"I'll take care of him," Francis said.  
>Glancing across the room from below long lashes, Matthew saw Ivan return to his assigned seat. But when he let Francis help him out of the room, he felt those purple eyes following them…<em>

"More tea?" Arthur asked in a low, amiable voice. Matthew's head jerked up almost instinctively, and he felt slightly guilty. Nodding absentmindedly, he held out his cup and let Arthur fill it. The warm, familiar smell of tea filled the room.

"You seem a little distracted," Arthur noted.

"Er…" Matthew was at a loss for words. Even if he had wanted to talk about his problem, Arthur was probably the very last person in the world he wanted to be aware of the fact that Canada was in imminent danger of becoming a Russian satellite state. Matthew shuddered as he imagined the look of horror, disgust and disappointment on his father's face. "Ivan…? Matthew, you _cannot_ be serious…"

To his surprise, Arthur smiled serenely. "You don't have to tell me, if you feel uncomfortable about it. I accept that my children don't want to share everything with me. It is only natural."

Matthew breathed a little sigh of relief. Well… at least that was something. Maybe not the acceptance or pity he secretly longed for, not the _'it's okay to be in love with the bad guys, as long as they're good-looking'_ that Francis would have given him, but it was better than nothing. He took another sip of tea and settled back into his chair, his tense muscles relaxing slightly. Unwelcome images of mesmerizing purple eyes still haunted him. He wondered what Ivan was doing right now. – Was he in a meeting? Discussing economic problems in Moscow, or politics in some other capital, somewhere in the world? Was he the guest of honor at some fancy dinner or banquet? Or was he outside in the cold; hunting, fishing, fighting, or whatever else he did to amuse himself?  
>That was a good question, by the way – what did the international bogeyman do to amuse himself? Except torturing and killing people and getting not-drunk on Vodka, of course, he thought sarcastically, re-iterating the well-known prejudices the other nations had about Russia.<p>

_Maple, Matthew, you really __**are**__ crazy. A freak. Who else would find himself falling for a bloodthirsty lunatic like Ivan…?_

"You should eat a little," Arthur said. "You are too thin, as always, and you do look a little pale."

Matthew did not feel like eating anything at all. Looking at the food Arthur offered him with a mixture of distrust and disgust, he bravely took a scone in order to please his host. He considered it a sacrifice to his filial duties. As he listlessly nibbled at the bread, another unwelcome memory came to his mind…

… _The simplest way to assure that a meeting involving several nations would be unproductive was placing two nations who were at odds with each other close to each other at the conference table. Guileless little Latvia had done just that. While he had been careful enough to place Francis and Arthur at opposite ends of the table, one between Ludwig and Antonio, the other between Berwald and Toris; he had also put Ivan between Vash and Matthew (reasoning that two neutral nations would keep the Russian menace in check) and Alfred between Matthew and Elizaveta. When Matthew and Alfred arrived together, the room was still half-empty, so it took them a while to notice the mishap, especially since several nations, including Ivan, arrived late. When Ivan entered the room, though, it took him and Alfred all of thirty seconds to get into an argument that escalated within the following two minutes. While most nations, including their host appeared to be frozen, staring at the two combatants with varying degrees of shock and fear, Matthew made the mistake of trying to intervene. While playing the hero suited Alfred though, it was not a role his younger brother appeared to be cut out for, and Matthew learned that lesson the painful way. Throwing himself between Alfred and Ivan only earned him a bloody lip and a broken wrist, the first courtesy of a misaimed Russian fist, the second resulting in Alfred's attempt to get him out of the way. Then, several things happened almost at once: Ludwig pushed past Vash, shouting at the top of his voice and throwing his large body between the two fighting men, Elizaveta lifted a frying pan from out of nowhere and hit Alfred over the head with it, Roderich attempted to hold her back and stumbled, which resulted in all three of them falling, and the Italian brothers hid beneath the table and pulled Raivis down with them. Matthew only narrowly escaped being crushed by his falling brother, since a strong arm wrapped around his middle and pulled him back quickly. Unfortunately, though, the arm belonged to Ivan, and now Matthew found himself faced with an overprotective Russia. For some reason, Ivan appeared to have developed a fetish for carrying him around, and a petrified Matthew was once again cradled against his chest. "Put me down!" he protested.  
>"I won't hurt you," Ivan assured him sincerely.<br>"You already did!" Matthew flared.  
>"I did?" Ivan asked sheepishly, studying him closely. "Oh! I am sorry."<br>"Yeah, right."  
>"No, really, I am…"<br>"Fine. Just put me down."  
>"Where are you hurt?"<br>"My wrist; and my lip is bleeding."  
>"I can.."<br>"Ivan! Put him down __**right now!**__" Ludwig bellowed, and then added in a more quiet tone of voice: "Before Alfred gets the idea that you are trying to abduct his brother…"  
>Ivan looked down at Matthew, his expression suddenly pensive, as if he actually considered that option. Matthew shuddered.<br>Ivan continued to stare at him for a brief moment, then sighed. "But you would not like to be abducted by me, da?"  
>What kind of question was that…? "No!"<br>With another sigh, Ivan released him, carefully putting him back on his feet.  
>"I am sorry," he repeated, but now he was looking away. Matthew frowned and wondered what had passed between them…<em>

* * *

><p>Arthur watched the door close behind Matthew, a thoughtful expression on his face. He was not worried – not yet, anyway – but he felt… concerned.<p>

Contrary to Matthew's innocent assumption, Arthur _knew_. He had kept quiet so far, because he could not perceive an imminent danger to his son's health and wellbeing, but he took great care to monitor both Matthew and Ivan – especially Ivan – as closely and unobtrusively as possible. He had briefly contemplated informing Alfred, mainly in order to gain access to his superior intelligence network, but then decided against it. Alfred was too impulsive to be discreet and would have wanted to rush to his brother's aid immediately. At this point, though, Arthur felt that rash actions would do more harm than good. In the post Cold-War-era that they were living in, it would have seemed ridiculous at best to accuse Ivan of being a little too interested in Matthew. As long as his interest did no obvious harm to either Matthew or the international community, Arthur's hands were tied.

And so far, Ivan had been very careful. In fact, Arthur himself had only learned of the matter by accident. Sheer coincidence had let him to find out about Ivan's affection, or whatever it was: when Matthew had fallen ill in 2003, Arthur had almost immediately decided to take care of his sick child, rather than entrusting his care to mere humans or Francis. Despite his general bad opinion of Francis, Arthur did not necessarily believe him to be a bad parent; nevertheless he preferred to oversee Matthew's recovery process himself. Sickness was not exactly an uncommon event in the "life" of a nation, but it was rare enough to be taken seriously.

Since it was _Matthew_, he had not received too many visits or get-well cards, but one day, Arthur had to his very great surprise found him sitting on his bed, opening a large parcel. "From Alfred?" he had asked, because it seemed the most logical answer.

Matthew had shaken his head. "I don't know."

A moment later, both he and Arthur had found themselves staring down at the contents of the parcel that were obviously intended as gifts: a magnificent pure white ermine coat, the best quality Arthur had ever seen, a pair of matching white leather gloves, also rimmed with ermine, and, wrapped carefully into a thin silk shawl, a white rose that was in full, splendid bloom. Wrapped into the luxurious softness of the pelt, they had also found a bottle filled with a clear liquid. It was labeled in Cyrillic letters, which neither Matthew nor Arthur could read, but it nevertheless revealed the identity of the sender.

"He could just as well have signed his name," Arthur muttered, still perplexed by the gesture. The gifts were exquisite and rather unusual. Yet all of them, except for the bottle of vodka, were startlingly feminine in appearance… gifts a man might give to a woman he was courting. Since Arthur knew for a fact that Ivan's interest in women was rather peripheral, he wondered if he had chosen this traditional way of showing his interest in order to set Matthew apart from his past lovers. There was a huge difference between showering someone in gifts and invading his lands in order to take what you wanted without asking…

* * *

><p><em>You must think me a bit of a sadist, since poor Mattie is constantly getting hurt or sick, but I simply love the image of Ivan carrying him around ^^ Matthew's sickness in 2003 coincides with the SARS outbreak in Canada. Back then, 44 people died, and there was a somewhat apocalyptic feeling in the air (I visitied Canada that summer), but I think the panic was worse than the actual disease. Anyway, it was a welcome excuse for making him sick once again and to have Ivan send him some gifts. Please don't ask me how the rose survived the trip in the parcel, wrapped into a silk scarf. The magic of love, maybe...? As always, reviews are absolutely wonderful. The next chapter will be from Ivan's point of view.<br>_


	3. Bern: Help is Found in Unlikely Places

Ivan was miserable. Not that that was anything new; he had been miserable for most of the past decade - actually, for most of the past century - , but he always felt his misery more acutely when he was in the company of others who were obviously happy, or at least tolerably content. Roderich he could handle; the Austrian was reserved and thoughtful by nature, and he had his own melancholy, his own losses and secrets to deal with.

Vash Zwingli, on the other hand, was so happy, healthy and self-satisfied that Ivan had to control the violent urge to punch him in the face. His complacency was as hard to bear as was his arrogance.

Staring out of the large windows of Vash's office in Bern, watching the dance of autumn-colored leaves, Ivan wondered why he had even allowed Roderich to drag him here. He did not need or want Vash to solve his problem and since Vash was at best indifferent, he had no reason to be helpful, either.

Vash had greeted them, and now he and Roderich were exchanging meaningless pleasantries. Ivan just wished they would come to the point. Weren't the German-speaking nations supposed to be more forthright than others? He knew that at least Gilbert and Roderich were, but his experiences with the other four (he included Luxembourg and Liechtenstein merely for the sake of completeness) were somewhat limited. German was not a very melodic language, and this endless chatter was starting to get on his nerves. He was not interested in Liechtenstein's economy or Elizaveta's health. Besides, he had some trouble understanding Vash and did not feel in the mood to concentrate any harder on what he was saying.

„We should switch to English for politeness' sake," Roderich suggested.

"Why?" Vash shrugged. "Everybody present speaks German."

"That's questionable."

"Nonsense, I know that Ivan has a good grasp of German."

"I wasn't referring to him, though," Roderich replied nonchalantly.

Vash glowered at him.

"So," Roderich said, "we have covered pretty much everything from the weather to your little sister's musical accomplishments – shall we get to the matter at hand?"

"I am all ears," Vash replied.

"Great," Ivan said laconically, and then, turning towards Roderich added: "Remind me why I agreed to this?"

Roderich shrugged. "You came to me for advice, but since you did not like the one I gave you and it is fairly obvious that you are not going to take it, you are going to need a lot more help in the future. Namely, you are going to need someone who can persuade America that it is not necessarily a good idea to declare war on your country, because you molested his brother."

Vash stepped around the Austrian and looked at Ivan with renewed interest. "You molested – wait, what's his name? – ah, Canada… anyway. I thought that was more in Francis' department than in yours. Or is it territorial? Don't you think that you occupy a large enough part of the world as it is? Megalomania is not exactly healthy, you know."

"I'm sure you would know all about that," Ivan muttered sarcastically.

Vash ignored the jibe. "I am sure I don't have to tell you that going for America's brother, neighbor an ally is not a good idea. Especially since the guy also happens to be one of Arthur's children and a member of his Commonwealth. Why would you do such a thing? Don't you have enough problems of your own?"

"I didn't do anything," Ivan snarled, now truly exasperated.

"Not yet, anyway," Roderich amended, "The story goes as follows, Vash – Ivan has apparently gotten lonely, or bored with his life as the slowly disintegrating largest nation in the world. While I salute his sudden change from homicidal fiend to sappy romantic, I am not too happy about his choice, since it might rekindle the Cold War. I am afraid, Alfred will not care whether or not Ivan has lost his heart, and neither will Arthur. I doubt that any European nation would be happy about a Russo-Canadian alliance of any kind, not even Francis, who keeps on rambling about love and romance. "

"You're in love?" Vash was staring now, his face slack with disbelief. It looked almost comical. "I always thought your idea of a fulfilling relationship was to keep a bunch of weaker nations as your pets and oppress and torture them as you pleased."

"Yeah, well, thanks for sharing that, it is very helpful," Ivan fumed. "Why do you all treat me like I am some kind of dangerous animal?"

"If you exchange the phrase _'dangerous animal' _for _'sadistic maniac'_ you might have your answer," Vash replied drily.

"You forgave Germany."

"Because it's been seventy years, and Ludwig is truly repentant. He paid compensations, he dealt with his past, and he's on good terms with Israel and every other country whose citizens his people harmed. He's got a stable democracy, he's well-integrated and he works to prevent wars, instead of starting them these days. You on the other hand… well…" Vash shrugged. "You have made some progress, but not enough, and many of us are still intimidated by you. The way you are treating many of your own people isn't helping, either."

"He's right," Roderich said, "and Alfred will use those arguments against you. And you cannot simply strangle him or beat him, just as you cannot beat Vash right now."

"How do you know that I want to beat him?"

"It is rather obvious," Roderich replied, heavy sarcasm lacing his voice, "your eyes are glowing and there is that air of unspeakable terror forming around you. It would be more impressive if you could actually do anything, but we both know that you cannot, so you might as well stop right where you are and go back to normal."

"So… if I understand you correctly, you want me to prevent Alfred plus Arthur and the other Europeans from declaring war on Ivan…?" Vash asked.

Roderich inclined his head. "That was the general idea, yes."

"And why do you think that I will be able to do so? Alfred doesn't care about me or my opinion, and I am quite convinced that the European Union secretly resents me for not wanting to join. Besides, if Ivan were to harm… Canada, they would have a valid reason to act against him."

"I don't want to harm Matthew in any way," Ivan stated.

"Well, your definition of _'not harming him'_ might differ from everybody else's," Vash pointed out. "What exactly do you want? Because if you have territorial ambitions, Alfred and Arthur are never going to allow that either, even if he voluntarily surrenders."

"Do I have to answer him?" Ivan asked Roderich, a pained expression on his face. "It's personal." Somehow, this last question bothered him more than any of the other things the insufferable Swiss had said.

What _did_ he want? A tumble of confused images came to his mind, wishes, hopes, fragments of day-dreams that had plagued him this past decade or so… and in the midst of them all, a timid blond boy, who looked so similar to Alfred, and was yet so different…

Roderich shrugged. "Do you want him to help? I am sure, Vash isn't asking for curiosity's sake."

"I want…" Well, it was hard to actually put it into words. _I want to spend time with Matthew, I want to see him smile at me, I want to look into his eyes and see no fear, no disgust, no loathing… I want him to be by my side and take some of this terrible loneliness away…_ "I want to be happy," he said finally. _In a warm place, with sunflowers… with you._

Both Roderich and Vash were looking at him again. In the Austrian's eyes, he saw pity, and a hint of understanding; Vash merely looked surprised, and maybe somewhat depreciative. "Okay," he said slowly, "and you believe you need… Matthew in order to be happy. Does he know how you feel?"

Ivan shook his head. No, he didn't know. Didn't know, because they rarely spoke, and when they did Matthew always looked as if he suspected Ivan of secretly planning to kill him. He didn't know, because Ivan, who could barely believe that _this_ had happened to _him_ of all people, found it terribly hard to express what he felt. He wasn't even sure if he wanted Matthew to know, for fear of being rejected and laughed at. And even if Matthew were to react favorably – which Ivan could hardly imagine -, he was afraid he would not be happy, for fear of harming Matthew. Everybody seemed to think he was a terrible person – nation – and what, if his darker side emerged and did something bad to Matthew? Ivan knew that he couldn't live with the knowledge of having injured yet another one he cared about.

"So…" Vash continued, drawing out the word unnecessarily long, "I think your first action should be to inform the person in question – Matthew, no?"

By now, Ivan had a strong suspicion that Vash was doing this to spite him. He couldn't really be that forgetful, could he? And as for his suggestion – well, Ivan didn't particularly like that, either. He knew, of course, that he would have to have that conversation with Matthew eventually, but he dreaded it. He had no idea how to properly express his feelings, let alone explain them to somebody, who might be horrified to learn that they concerned him.

"I…" he faltered. Frankly, it was quite ridiculous. He was the great Russia, he had fought battles, conquered, suffered and inflicted suffering long before there had been even a whisper about this insignificant, infuriating boy. Insignificant enough to be forgotten even by his closest family and allies… and yet so powerful. Powerful enough to reduce mighty Russia to a confused bundle of emotions that would have preferred to hide in a cabin in the backwoods of Siberia for the rest of his existence, rather than to confront Matthew.

He looked up again and caught two pairs of eyes resting on him. Vash once again appeared haughty, maybe even a bit amused, but Roderich looked a bit more sympathetic. "Well," he said after a brief and awkward silence. "You obviously need help in that department, too. Vash and I cannot help you there. Vash is utterly inexperienced and moreover, not remotely interested in other people's feelings, and I am not a good teacher. The subject requires a certain… frankness that I do not possess. It is a pity that we cannot engage the services of Francis in this particular matter, since for all his bragging, he really does know quite a bit about the subtle art of manipulation that he calls seduction. But it would be unwise to consult him… it is his child we are talking about, after all. Luckily, I know somebody else who might be of help."

Ivan looked at him warily. He was grateful for Roderich's willingness to help, but involving even more people did not seem a very good idea to him. Besides… whom was Roderich going to ask…?

"Well…?" He asked.

"Elizaveta will certainly help, if we ask her nicely. She might even enjoy herself. And it would be a great way for the two of you to further your relations."

Ivan pondered that idea for a minute or two and found no sound arguments against it. He knew Elizaveta well, and even though she might still resent him in some part for what had passed behind the Iron Curtain, they managed to behave civilly around each other these days. Besides, Roderich's second sentence had probably been an understatement – if Ivan knew Elizaveta at all, she would tremendously enjoy herself.

Slowly, he nodded, and Roderich appeared satisfied. "Very good. I will make some calls. Vash…"

The Swiss nodded, too. "I understand. I will treat the matter as a secret until further notice. I will also make preparations for a mediation between Russia and America… and for the Third World War."

"That is no laughing matter," Roderich chided.

* * *

><p><em>Some notes: Why would I (or why would Roderich) decide to bring Switzerland into this, you might ask. Well, mostly because Switzerland is the only truly neutral nation on the European continent, and would therefore be the perfect mediator. Switzerland has been neutral, or almost neutral for what seems like forever, and he is respected for that. Another good option would be Germany (at least in my opinion), but since Ludwig will make his appearance in the next chapter, I chose Vash instead.<em>

_Also: Those of you who do not speak German, might not understand Roderich's joke at the beginning. He was referring to the fact that Swiss German, even though not really a separate language, is quite different from the modern standard German that is spoken in large parts of Austria and Germany. Austria and Germany both have many regional dialects, but none of them is as different from the standard as Swiss German. Even I do have problems understanding it on occasion, and I am a native speaker who has been in contact with Swiss people frequently. Think of it as something along the lines of a person who speaks a very sophisticated Oxford English trying to communicate with somebody from rural Texas, though it would probably be even worse than that._


	4. Berlin: Don't Mention the War

_Hi everyone! Thank you so much for the reviews on the first three chapters! I'm glad you liked the story so far! I also apologize for the wait - and for the fact that this chapter is just excessively long. I had a lot of fun writing this (probably, because I'm a huge fan of Gilbert...). I hope you'll enjoy it as well. Also, this story seriously needs a beta. Any volunteers_?

* * *

><p>After his conversation with Arthur, Matthew more than ever felt the need to talk to somebody, preferably somebody who would be sympathetic to his plight. Since he was Canada, though, the nation everybody tended to forget, his choices were rather limited.<p>

Talking to his brother was out of the question; besides, in order to be sympathetic, you had to actually listen to the other person and that was something Alfred rarely did. Arthur he had already ruled out, which left Francis and a vast number of half brothers and sisters, but he wasn't particularly close to any of them. As for Francis… well… Matthew was sure his French parent would be overjoyed to learn that his problems were of a romantic nature, but he was not particularly fond of Russia, either. Besides, Matthew had a sneaking suspicion that in talking to Francis, he would probably learn a great many things that would scar him for life.

So family was out… but that meant that Matthew was running out of choices, fast. He briefly contemplated telling Cuba. They were friends, and besides, Cuba was one of the very few nations who did not have a terribly bad opinion of Russia. On the other hand, though, Cuba also was something of a recluse and knew nothing about the current state of international relations. Matthew therefore came to the conclusion that his southern friend was great for comfort, but bad for advice.

Which left… Prussia.

Actually, realizing that _Gilbert_ was the only one you could talk to was somewhat scary. On the other hand, though, he did not seem such a bad choice, once you thought about it for a while. For all his deviousness, the red-eyed ex-nation was fiercely loyal to his friends. Of course, he could afford the luxury, since he no longer had any land to protect, but that was beside the point. Gilbert also had a lot of experience – he wasn't actually that old, but his history was full of war and intrigue, of elaborate schemes, of treaties and treachery. Most importantly, though, he had lived with Ivan for more than forty years.

Matthew therefore directed his steps towards the German capital, hoping to find Gilbert at home with Ludwig. Technically, Gilbert still had his own place – or rather, places – to stay, but his existence as a formally dissolved ex-nation frequently depressed him, so he opted for living with his brother. Ludwig bore it with astonishing patience. It was rare to find the two of them all by themselves, though, usually there was at least one other nation present. Many came to conduct business or have talks with Ludwig, the neighboring European countries frequently dropped by for a chat, and of course there was Feliciano, who sometimes seemed closer to Ludwig than his own shadow.

It was late afternoon, and the house smelled heavenly of cookies and other baked goods. Matthew heard Ludwig and Feliciano long before he saw them. They were working in the kitchen; both covered in flour, and apparently happily busy making at least five different kinds of German Christmas cookies at once. If they continued at this rate, they would be up to their noses in cookies by the time Christmas actually arrived, Matthew mused.

Feliciano was laughing, Ludwig was smiling, which was rare enough to be memorable, and both welcomed him warmly. Matthew greatly appreciated the fact that Ludwig was one of the very few people who actually bothered to try to remember his name. He did not always succeed, but at least he made an effort.

"Is Gilbert home?" He asked.

Ludwig nodded. "He's upstairs in the attic… I think."

He walked over to the door and started calling his brother in a voice that could probably be heard all the way to Potsdam. After the third call, they heard a crashing noise from somewhere upstairs. "Sag mal, willst du den Alten Fritz aus seinem Grab rufen?" Gilbert's disembodied voice came floating down the steps. „Ich hab dich schon beim ersten Mal gehört!"

A second later, he bounced into the kitchen, looking moderately disheveled. Cobwebs clung to his unruly white hair and his clothes were somewhat dusty.

Ludwig frowned. "What exactly did you do up there?" He asked suspiciously.

"Well, actually – Moment mal, warum reden wir eigentlich Englisch? – oh… hi Mattie!" A huge grin spread across his face, and he gave Matthew a quick hug that took him by surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Gilbert," Ludwig chided.

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Okay, let me rephrase that – it's nice to see you, what are you doing here? Better, West?"

"Not much."

Matthew swallowed. "I… er… well, I wanted to tell you something."

Gilbert raised his eyebrows, apparently trying to make sense of that statement, but Feliciano, always susceptible to anything emotional, cut in, his large, amber colored eyes solemn and focused on Matthew's flushed face. "Maybe you want to sit down and eat some cookies?" he suggested.

"Th-thank you, Feliciano."

"Oh, never mind!" The Italian replied, already bustling away to get a plate.

"What does Feli know that I don't?" Gilbert asked. "And why are you acting as if you were about to confess to murder?"

"I didn't kill anyone!" Matthew hastily assured them, because Ludwig was starting to look worried. "I just… I guess I have a problem of sorts."

_A huge problem. A gigantic problem. A problem that has purple eyes and likes to wear a beige scarf._

"Sounds interesting," Gilbert said, pointing at the table. "Sit. You can spill the beans while Feli forces you to try all the different kinds of _Plätzchen_ he and West made. There's tons of them, you'll probably be sick before you've tasted them all."

Matthew nodded stiffly and settled down on one of the chairs. Gilbert chose another chair, turning it around so he could fully face Matthew and Ludwig settled into the corner seat. Feliciano reappeared, beaming and holding a large plate overflowing with cookies, which he put down in front of Matthew, then he slid onto the bench and snuggled up to Ludwig, who looked vaguely embarrassed.

"Well…?" Gilbert asked. Patience had never been his strongest quality.

"I… um… have you seen any of Russia lately?"

All three other nations now looked at him, confusion showing on their faces.

Ludwig shrugged. "Not since the last G8-meeting, and we barely got a chance to talk. He was unusually sulky and morose. I mean, even at his best, Ivan isn't a very talkative person, but it still struck me as odd."

"Antonio asked him to join us for a game and a couple of drinks a while ago, but you know Ivan… he rarely goes out," Gilbert added, also shrugging. "Not that I'd mind. I still haven't figured out whether he is just phlegmatic, or he dislikes people, but I'm suspecting the latter. So no, I haven't seen him recently. But what is more important – why are you asking?"

He fixed Matthew with an intense gaze.

"Um…" Matthew fidgeted in his seat, trying to avoid direct eye contact. "That… problem I mentioned…? It concerns Russia."

"Some border conflict over the Arctic?" Ludwig suggested, obviously trying to sound sympathetic.

"Not… really."

"Spit it out, Mattie," Gilbert said, sounding slightly exasperated. "Tell me Ivan bothered you, so I can go ahead and break his nose. I've been waiting to do that for ages."

"But he's bigger than you!" Feliciano protested, sounding alarmed.

"So?" Gilbert grinned. "I'll have to get on my toes, then. Besides, I'm smarter. I'm awesome!"

Ludwig groaned faintly. "Don't start," he warned his brother.

"You know, this is no fun at all," Gilbert told Matthew. "Just say it. I know that Russia can be quite intimidating, but he isn't here, is he?"

"Alright," Matthew said swallowing hard. "I… well, maybe it would be best if… oh well, just listen, okay?"

… _it was one of Alfred's stupid parties. A Christmas party, no less, and Alfred knew how much Matthew detested such events, because everybody would overlook him anyway, and he'd spend the entire evening alone and miserable. Nevertheless, his brother always made him come, insisting that it would be 'fun'. Except that it never was. Not for Matthew, at least. And he had a feeling that this year was going to turn out especially bad, as soon as he found out that Ivan had chosen that night to make one of his rare appearances in society. Russia was actually attending America's party, imagine that. Only a couple of decades before that would not have been possible. It was days like this that made Matthew nostalgic of the Cold War. Especially, since Russia was standing right in front of him, blocking his way into the other room. He filled out the entire doorframe all by himself, and there was no way to get through. The embarrassment potential of this situation was momentous, and Matthew prayed that neither Ivan nor anybody else would notice the suspicious green boughs hanging from the ceiling.  
>"Look," Matthew began, "would you just…"<br>And then it happened. Behind him, a sickeningly cheery voice called "Mistletoe!"  
>Matthew whirled around, only to see Antonio standing behind him, beaming at him. It was obvious that he had already had more than enough to drink and his open, friendly face was flushed and cheerful. Matthew cursed him to the deepest pits of hell. Antonio was cutting off his only escape route. "Don't you love those old Christmas traditions…?" Antonio asked fondly.<br>No, actually I hate them, just as I hate you right now, Matthew wanted to say, but instead he said in a rather shaky voice. "That's nonsense. You don't even have that tradition in Spain." He did not dare to look at Ivan. In fact, he rather hoped the Russian would just miraculously disappear.  
>No such luck, though. "What tradition…?" Ivan asked, sounding vaguely intrigued.<br>"Oh, if two people are standing beneath a mistletoe and it's Christmas time, they have to kiss each other. Isn't that cute?"  
>"Actually, it's only when a <em>_**man**__ and a __**woman**__ are standing beneath it," Matthew clarified. "Ivan, could you just move a bit? I need to leave."  
>"That's pure sophistry, and also quite discriminating," Antonio argued. "Does that mean, if it were Romano standing beneath that mistletoe, I could not kiss him?"<br>"Why don't you kiss Ivan instead?" Matthew snapped.  
>"I think Romano would resent that," Antonio replied seriously,<br>Matthew groaned. This was getting him nowhere, why did Antonio have to be so…  
>"Oi, mistletoe!" another cheery voice called, and a seriously inebriated Berwald came into sight, dragging along Tino and Alfred.<br>"Does that mean I have to kiss Matthew?" Ivan asked, sounding confused.  
>"Do I look like a girl to you?" Matthew retorted angrily, still without looking at him.<br>"Actually, you do look quite girly, with that long hair," his brother drawled behind him.  
>"I hate you, Alfred!"<br>Alfred laughed. "Well, little bro' there's no way out. You have to kiss him. It's the rules."  
>"It's <em>_**Russia**__!" Matthew replied, frantically trying to make them see why this was a terribly bad idea.  
>"It doesn't matter who it is," Alfred said.<br>"See, I told you so." Antonio nodded in satisfaction.  
>"You are not going to go away until I kiss him…?" Matthew asked.<br>"Nope. We'll __**make**__ you kiss him."  
>"I really do hate you." Matthew drew a deep breath, then raised his head defiantly. Well… might as well get it over with. He would just claim a complete blackout when they'd try to tease him the next day… if he survived, that was.<br>"I'm going to kiss you, just so they shut up," he informed Ivan. "Please don't kill me, okay?" His knees felt suddenly weak and his hands were shaking. To his surprise, Ivan looked slightly nervous as well. Matthew took it as a good sign. Maybe he was going to survive this, after all.  
>He stepped closer. Ivan did not move. One step, two, three. Their bodies where almost touching now, Ivan's towering over Matthew's. Matthew closed his eyes and got on tiptoes. Just as he realized that he would have to open them again in order to be able to do this, Ivan bent down, was suddenly impossibly close, and soft, even though slightly cracked lips met his. For a brief moment, Matthew froze in shock. His heart seemed to stand still, and so did time. He kept his eyes closed – there was no point in opening them now – hoping all of this, including, but not limited to Ivan, would go away. Then reality hit him, washing over him like a wave. He was kissing Ivan. And it felt good.<br>Actually, it felt a lot more than just good.  
>Like humans, the nations each had a unique smell, and Matthew was keenly aware of Ivan's now… he smelled snow and cold and endless woods, damp earth, the sea on many different shores, the smoky, sweaty, pungent smell of large cities, fire wood and coal, borscht and other foods… it was an incredibly complicated smell, but also an intriguing one. And not bad. Not bad in any way.<br>Matthew would have been unable to tell which one of them had deepened the kiss from a mere brush of lips to something a lot more substantial, but it didn't really matter to him. He tasted alcohol and something sweet, maybe gingerbread. Almost instinctively, his body pressed closer, he felt Ivan shift to adjust, felt large hands on his back, gentle but firm, felt Ivan's tongue on his lips and inside his mouth as they shared what the English-speaking world had dubbed a 'French' kiss in eternal memory of Francis…  
>In the background, he heard cheers and whistles and catcalls as he slowly came out of his daze, and Antonio's good-natured voice rising above the noise: "Hey, I think you were supposed to kiss him, not make out with him…"<br>Laughter surrounded him, and Matthew blushed furiously, pulling back and slipping out of Ivan's grasp. He stumbled; Alfred caught him. His brother was laughing heartily. "You're drunk!" He exclaimed merrily. "Gosh, Matthew, I had no idea! Russia? Seriously?"  
>Matthew pushed him away and ran.<em>

… two Germans and one Italian were staring at him back in Ludwig's comfortable kitchen, their eyes wide with surprise.  
>Feliciano was the first to pull himself together. "But… that's not right," he protested, "You can't be in love with the bad guy!"<p>

"Sch, Feli, I don't think Matthew mentioned anything about being in love," Ludwig attempted to calm him. It rather sounded as if he were trying to calm himself as well.

"I remember that incident," Gilbert said slowly. "Alfred and Berwald went on and on about it at breakfast, and your face was redder than Lovino's after one of his shouting fits." He fixed Matthew with a scrutinizing look. "A drunken joke, stupid mistletoe… you never told me that it actually _meant_ anything. "

"Because it wasn't supposed to!" Matthew cried. "It was supposed to be a stupid joke at my expense, and Russia's. Only that it wasn't, because of all the people at that party, fate just had to pick the only one, who…"

"Yes…?" Gilbert asked, leaning forward. "The only one, who…? Heavens, Mattie, you are not about to tell me that you have a crush on _Ivan_, are you? There's nothing even remotely lovable about the guy, and if you've developed at taste for sociopaths, please pick one who's less likely to actually harm you physically. There are plenty of them among us. Can't you just – I don't know, go on a date with France, or fuck Romano or something?"

"Gilbert!" Ludwig warned.

"I know it's stupid," Matthew sighed, elbows on the table and face in his hands, "but I can't help it. I actually _like_ Ivan. I mean, I'm scared of him, but at the same time, I can't help but think that he's been exceptionally nice and considerate towards me those past few years. He literally picked me up every time I so much as stumbled. Of course, his penchant for carrying me around is a bit annoying, not to mention embarrassing, but nevertheless… he's nice. He remembers my name, he remembers _me_. That's a lot to say."

"I remember your name, too, but so far, you've declined all my offers. Ivan hasn't even offered yet, so what did I do wrong?" Gilbert asked, irony heavy in his voice.

"Gilbert, you are my friend," Matthew replied, slightly exasperated, "of course I'm not attracted to you."

"What, being your friend makes me unattractive?"

"I think we digress," Ludwig reminded them. "Brother, this isn't about you. Just let him explain. Es geht nicht immer nur um dich."

"Ivan is… different." Matthew said, still trying to find the right words to express what he felt.

"Yes," Gilbert nodded, "he's a psychotic bastard who thinks abusing people both physically and mentally is part of a normal relationship. If you don't believe me, go talk to Toris or Feliks. I think you could use a healthy dose of reality. Point is, Mattie, Ivan is _NOT_ a nice guy. So get it out of your system, before he catches on. If he learns of your… infatuation, he will use it against you."

Matthew looked down at the marbled wood of the tabletop. He had expected Gilbert to be wary, maybe even apprehensive. He had not, however, expected such a violent and deeply personal reaction. His friend was acting as if Matthew had intentionally hurt him, as if he was doing all this just to spite him. Which was not the case. Matthew had never _asked_ for Russia to take an interest in him, nor had he asked to fall in love with Ivan. If he could have chosen, wouldn't he have rather picked someone like Feli, some easy-going, cute and perfectly harmless nation?

Looking across the table at the Italian, Matthew realized something: Of all the nations, _Feliciano_ should have been the one to best understand what he himself felt right now. Feliciano was weak, gentle and infamously gutless, and he was snuggling up to a guy twice his size, whose past was at least as violent as Russia's, if a bit farther away. What made Feliciano trust Ludwig so implicitly? Of course, everybody believed in Ludwig's repentance, while next to nobody believed in Ivan's, but still…

"Feliciano," he said slowly, "why do you love Ludwig?"

Both Germans turned to frown at him, but Feliciano was only too ready to respond. "Ve… because he is a wonderful person!" He smiled serenely at Matthew, then hugged a blushing Ludwig around the waist.

"He also participated in racially motivated mass-murder, and started at least one World War, among other things," Matthew pointed out.

Ludwig's face blanched, Feliciano looked shocked and Gilbert's frown deepened. "What are you trying to prove?" He asked, "that redemption is possible? It is. My brother is the living, breathing example of that. The only difference between Ludwig and Ivan is that Ludwig got over his bout of insanity. Ivan never did, though."

Matthew wanted to reply something, but to his surprise, Ludwig held up a hand. "Maybe he is right," he said slowly. "We've all been acting upon the assumption that Ivan is still dangerous and unstable, and I don't think we were wrong to be wary… but maybe we overlooked the possibility that he, too, could change. Or that maybe, he never was as black as some of us would like to paint him."

"Fuck, West, _Ivan_ was the one responsible for that goddamn wall, in case you've forgotten! You know, that thing separating us for _decades_?"

"A little objectivity, please, Gilbert," Ludwig admonished, "Ivan may have lent a helping hand, but the people who built that wall were actually German citizens. Anyway, I am not saying that Ivan is innocent, just that he might deserve a second chance. I got one, so why shouldn't he?"

"I'm not about to bet Mattie's health and sanity on the possibility that Ivan isn't such a bad guy after all!" Gilbert replied heatedly.

"How about you let Matthew decide what's best for him? He's a big boy, Gilbert, he can take care of himself."

Matthew watched the exchange with raised eyebrows. It was no surprise that Ludwig once again turned out to be the more reasonable of the brothers, but the thought that Gilbert was genuinely worried about him was touching.

"Right," Gilbert snorted, shooting his brother and the cuddling Italian a dirty look, "just as Feli can, huh?"

"But I don't want to take care of myself," Feliciano said brightly, "I think it's nice to have someone else care for you. Maybe Matthew wants Ivan to take care of him?"

_Yes, please…_ a very treacherous part of Matthew's brain eagerly supplied.

"That's like entrusting the big bad wolf with Rotkäppchen's safety!" Gilbert huffed.

"Ah, but aren't you forgetting something?" Feliciano asked, a faint smile on his lips. "In the end, Rotkäppchen won. Because it's always the good guys who win. Of course, though," he added in an afterthought, "the good guys aren't supposed to fall in love with the bad guys. But if Ludwig's right, maybe we could get Ivan to come around and become a good guy? It would make those meetings go a lot smoother, too."

Matthew found that he was smiling despite himself. The world from Feliciano's point of view appeared to be a very cheerful, innocent place full of hope and happiness.

"He's got a point there," Ludwig said, stroking his chin and looking at Matthew thoughtfully. "Any alliance between Canada and Russia – be it based on romance, friendship or shared interests – would force Alfred and Ivan to play nice, and I wouldn't mind that for a change. And if we could get Ivan to stop supporting rogue countries like Iran, well… it's got potential."

"Ivan's supporting Iran?" Feliciano asked wide-eyed.

"Well, maybe not openly, but he's certainly a lot less critical of the current regime than he could be."

"I can't promise you anything," Matthew told Ludwig. "Right now, this is nothing but a personal matter… and I don't even know if Ivan…"

"… if Ivan is interested?" Gilbert asked, frowning. "Oh, trust me, he'll be delighted. You're _exactly_ his type – meek, gentle, innocent."

"I am not meek, Gilbert," Matthew protested. "My country is the second largest in the world…"

"… with 35 million inhabitants at most – and I think that's a generous estimate - and a GDP that's not even half of Germany's, yes, we know. Which means that population-wise, you are about the size of Morocco. Speaking of which, Morocco at least has its own head of state – while yours is still Queen Elizabeth of England. One could argue that you are not even truly independent. I'm not mentioning those things to insult or belittle you, Mattie, but you've got to realize what you're up against. Ivan is out of your league. Even if your country is the second largest in the world, Russia is nearly twice as large and its population is four times the size of Canada's. Also, Ivan has been around for quite a while – probably since the 9th century, although nobody knows for sure. And he's seen it all – wars, revolutions, famines, the rise and fall of empires, glory, despair, the most infamous crimes, and the most beautiful accomplishments, massacres, victories, losses and gains, alliances, intrigue and treachery. His history has shaped him into the nation he is these days, and I'm not sure you really want to get to know that person. Each of us has his or her own – what shall I call it? Dark spots? – but with Ivan… well, the abyss isn't too far below the surface, and it's very, very deep."

"One could have said the same thing about me, fifty or sixty years ago," Ludwig said quietly. "At least Ivan didn't kill six million people because his boss happened to dislike their religion."

"Can we _please_ not talk about the Nazis now?" Gilbert asked, sounding faintly exasperated. "I know how much you enjoy wallowing in guilt and self-loathing, West, but let it rest for a moment, okay? This is about Mattie… and Ivan."

"I just wanted to get back to what I said earlier – that maybe Ivan, too, deserves a second chance."

"Maybe, but not at Mattie's expense."

"Why are you so convinced that he'll hurt me?" Matthew asked.

Gilbert turned to look at him, a hint of pity and maybe sadness in his strange red eyes. "Because that's what he does. Yes, maybe he likes you. But he also liked Feliks, and Toris and his brothers, and Elizaveta, and me. It never stopped him from hurting us, quite the opposite, actually. It's a rule, Mattie. People Ivan likes tend to get hurt."

"So sending me gifts and roses is some weird Russian code for _'I really want to hurt you?'_", Matthew asked sarcastically.

"He sent you roses?" Feliciano squealed. "That's so cute!"

"Yeah, just the right word to describe Russia," Gilbert muttered, but he, too, looked somewhat surprised. "Well, that's certainly a new one. Did he remember your birthday, or what?"

"Among other things, yes," Matthew replied, then added drily: "You didn't, by the way."

"I did last year!"

Matthew waved it away. "Just forget about it, Gilbert. Anyway, Ivan has been nothing but considerate for the past _decade_. Let's see… I got the first present in 2003, when I was sick and he began to acknowledge my presence at the meetings at least end-nineties."

"Wait… Ivan has been courting you since 2003?" Ludwig asked, sounding astonished. "Well… I suppose, he's nothing if not persistent, then…"

"Sometimes, you have to be," Feliciano told him innocently. "With some people, it _does_ take a while."

Matthew had to suppress a grin.

"Well, I think not everybody is as dense as my little brother," Gilbert snorted. "But still, it's hard to believe – ten years?" He looked at Matthew for confirmation.

Matthew shrugged. "That's how I know he's interested. I didn't need you to tell me. I just came here for advice."

"I think, we gave you plenty of that," Gilbert replied. "Mine being: Don't do it and get as far away from him as possible. West seems to think you should go for it, and we really don't have to ask Feli – he's almost as bad as Francis, when it comes to romance."

"Hey, that's not fair!" Feliciano protested. "I never molest anybody!"

"Other than me, you mean?" Ludwig asked with a good-natured chuckle.

"But that's different! I love you!" Feliciano cried, throwing his arms around Ludwig and hugging him. Once again, Ludwig's face assumed the delightful color of the last dog roses flowering outside in the garden.

"God help us all," Gilbert muttered, and with a hint of black humor he added: "Well… at least life is bound to get interesting again, if you decide to go through with this. You won't mind if I join Alfred when he goes to beat the crap out of Ivan, will you? I've wanted to do that _forever_."

"Just bundle him up and sent him to Ottawa afterwards," Matthew replied in the same sarcastic tone of voice, "it would be nice if it were _me_ nursing _him,_ for a change."

* * *

><p>Notes and Translations:<p>

_Potsdam_ is the capital city of the German federal state _Brandenburg_. It is not very far from Berlin and used to be the capital of Prussia.

"_Sag mal, willst du den Alten Fritz aus seinem Grab rufen?" __= "Are you trying to call Old Fritz from his grave?"_

„_Ich hab dich schon beim ersten Mal gehört!" __= "I actually heard you the first time you called."_

„_Moment mal, warum reden wir eigentlich Englisch?" __= "Wait a minute – why are we speaking English?"_

_Plätzchen:_ German Christmas cookies. They come in all imaginable forms and sizes and are usually only made in the weeks leading up to Christmas, though you might still be eating them after Christmas, if you made to many of them.

„Es geht nicht immer nur um dich." – "It's not always about you."

_Rotkäppchen = Little Red Riding Hood_, I'm sure you know her. Why, oh why does it not surprise me that this was originally a French fairytale…? A little girl in the woods and the Big Bad Wolf – think Francis and… well, almost anybody ^^

dog rose = _Hundsrose_ in German. A climbing wild rose variety common in Germany and the neighboring European countries. Some plants bloom well into late autumn (such as the magnificent bush that climbed the wall of the house I grew up in). This part of the story is set in late autumn, probably the first or second week of November; so Feli and Ludwig would have started rather early with the Christmas bakery, but there could still be a couple of roses in the garden.


	5. Budapest: Pancakes and Hockey

Sleet was falling, when Ivan and Roderich arrived in Budapest and both of them were very grateful for the sleek black limousine waiting for them at the airport. Roderich and the driver exchanged a friendly greeting, from which Ivan deduced that they already knew each other. Considering how close Roderich and his ex-wife still were, it wasn't really much of a surprise that he should know her employees, though.

Elizaveta did not come downstairs to greet them when they entered the house, but they heard her almost immediately. She was on the phone, cursing. Ivan did not understand Hungarian well, but he didn't have too, either. The message was pretty clear from her tone of voice.

"Whom is she talking to?" he asked Roderich.

The Austrian was watching Elizaveta, eyebrows raised. "Her boss."

"Oh."

Elizaveta saw them, and wrapped up her conversation with what Ivan assumed were a few choice swearwords. With a last, disgusted look, she dropped the phone on her desk, then walked across the room to join them.

"That _idiot_. You know, I'm starting to feel sympathy for Ludwig, and that's not a good sign. Poor chap, now that I'm experiencing what it's like if your boss is a complete lunatic, I really feel bad for him. He had to go through all that dangerous nonsense…"

"I do not think that you should compare Orbán to Hitler," Roderich objected mildly. "Not yet, anyway…"

"Oh? Well, I'll certainly do everything to prevent us all from experiencing the _'yet' _part." She looked at Ivan. "I suppose, you know what I'm talking about, you've had your fair share of lunatics, too."

"Stalin was bad," Ivan agreed.

"You're the master of understatement, Ivan," Elizaveta snorted.

Ivan shrugged. "He is dead and gone and cannot bother me anymore. What more could I ask for?"

"Yeah, wish that would work for my current boss-problem, too. You think, I could sort of _encourage_ him to die young?"

"You wouldn't!" Roderich exclaimed, looking scandalized.

"I don't know. If he keeps this up…" She let the sentence trail off, but then turned back again to look at Ivan. "So, Ivan… I hear you have a somewhat special problem…?" Her smirk lit up a warning beacon somewhere at the back of Ivan's mind.

_Uh-oh. Not good._

He said nothing. He didn't have to – Elizaveta needed neither confirmation nor explanation. Roderich had already told her the facts, and her own rampant imagination made up for all the color his report had most likely been missing.

Elizaveta walked around him with little dancing steps, watching him with the sort of intense curiosity a taxonomist might reserve for an interesting new sub-species of beetles. To say that it made him nervous would have been another understatement.

"Matthew, huh?"

Hesitatingly, Ivan nodded.

"Well, well, well." She was still grinning as if Christmas had come early. "Who'd have thought? You know, I always suspected you of having a thing for _the other_ brother; what with all the bragging and jostling and fighting going on between the two of you."

Ivan frowned. Where did she get those ideas? No sane person would suggest that there could be anything but hard feelings and tentative attempts to be civil between him and Alfred, given their shared history. He contemplated telling her what exactly he thought of that idea, but then decided against it. He still needed her help. "I don't like Alfred," he pointed out, "and I don't think he likes me much. It would not be a… match made in heaven."

"Oh, but his brother and you are?" She asked ironically.

"Not yet," Ivan replied, trying to keep his voice even and not let it betray his doubts. "But that is why I came here. Roderich suggested I might need your help."

"You need all the help you can get, no matter where it comes from," Roderich clarified, before turning towards Elizaveta, "and you are a master manipulator."

"Why, thank you," she replied with a wry smile and a curtsy. "I don't think manipulation is the issue in this case, though. Ivan is about as subtle as an avalanche, so coming up with a clever scheme would be rather pointless. I believe you should be straightforward. Just tell the truth and be yourself… well, the part of you that isn't a sadistic lunatic, anyway."

"His reputation _could_ pose a bit of a problem," Roderich remarked.

"Not necessarily. Everybody knows that Francis is a philanderer, but he has no problem finding… company."

"On the other hand, though, Vash has a habit of threatening people at gunpoint, but he is still considered a benevolent peacemaker by most people."

Elizaveta shrugged the objection away. "We do not need to convince the whole world that Ivan is a nice guy and perfectly harmless these days. Just Matthew. Which brings us to an interesting question, Ivan – why Matthew? You'll have to admit, he's an unlikely choice. He is the nation everybody keeps forgetting about, and you hate his brother, who looks very much like him. It can't all be in the hairstyle, can it?"

"He _does_ have nice hair," Ivan pointed out, remembering how soft those curls felt when you ran your fingers through them. And Matthew didn't look that much like Alfred, did he? In fact, Ivan wasn't all that sure what Alfred looked like, since he never really paid any attention to him, unless they were fighting – in which case, Ivan would be vastly more interested in making Alfred bleed than in studying his features.

"But apart from that," Elizaveta insisted, "why Matthew?"

_Because he is everything that I am not_, Ivan thought, _he is gentle, and polite, and considerate and quiet. He is sensible and tolerant, and actually cares about people – not just his own people, but people in general. Humans, other nations. And he tries so hard to be __**somebody**__. To be recognized by the others. And when they forget him, his face wears the most heartbreaking expression I have ever seen…_

But what could he tell Elizaveta…? That he liked Matthew, because he was such a kind, likable creature? Because it would be so easy to make him happy, and that, in turn, would give Ivan the feeling that he had finally done something right, that his existence had some meaningful purpose…?

_I want him to smile. I want him to be happy because of something __**I**__ did…_

He struggled to put his thoughts into words. It was difficult, but he needed her to understand why this was so important to him. Elizaveta looked at him for a long, quiet moment, and so did Roderich.

"You know," the Austrian said slowly, sounding astonished at his own words, "that actually makes sense."

Elizaveta said nothing. Instead, she stepped closer and treated Ivan to a brief and somewhat awkward hug and a peck on the cheek. Ivan stared at her, wondering what had just happened.

She shrugged. "You look very cute when you are confused."

Did he have to understand that? Ivan hoped not, since it was clearly beyond him. Emotions generally made him feel vaguely uncomfortable, his own as well as other people's.

"Okay," Elizaveta said, nodding to herself, "so now we know what you want. Question is – does Matthew?"

"Well, I've never actually _told_ him about it," Ivan admitted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "I'm not particularly good with words. I've tried to show him, but… I don't think it has been that effective."

"That's probably because you had the wrong strategy," Elizaveta said confidently. "Funnily enough, most people do, when it comes to love. It's because they don't bother to actually think about it. They believe that what they feel will be obvious to anyone else. Only that it isn't. People can be exceptionally dumb, especially when you need them to be attentive and intelligent. Tell me what you did, so far."

Dutifully, Ivan did.

"The presents were a good idea, actually," Elizaveta mused. "In fact, it could be a lot worse. Presents, flowers, showing him that you remembered him when nobody else did… you did pretty well so far, Ivan. I'm almost impressed. Did it go any further than that? Any… you know, physical contact? Hugs, kisses and so on…?"

Ivan blushed. It was a bit silly, really, but he could not help it.

"Once."

"So, who initiated the kiss?" Elizaveta seemed determined to analyze this.

"He did. But it wasn't… like that, you know. It was at Alfred's Christmas party."

"Ah, the famous mistletoe incident. Kiku told me about that." She nodded. "So it actually meant something?"

"It did to me." Ivan muttered, his cheeks going from pink to red.

"Well, let's hope that Matthew feels the same way," Elizaveta said cheerfully, "and as I said, I think you should be straightforward. Just tell him. And if you're afraid that you won't find the right words, you can always practice in front of a mirror. I might even help you with that."

"What if he doesn't… you know…"

"Then you'll have to spend some more time trying to win him over. Get creative, Ivan! What does he like?"

"Pancakes," Ivan deadpanned, "and hockey."

"Well, that's two things you have in common, right? I know your people like pancakes, and I believe you do have a couple of decent hockey teams."

"Pancakes and hockey are not enough to build a relationship on," Roderich objected.

"Well, there's more, isn't there?" Elizaveta said, still looking at Ivan. "You are both in charge of large, sparsely populated countries, you both enjoy nature and being outdoors and you have a common enemy – Winter."

"And no common language," Roderich mimed the devil's advocate.

Elizaveta smiled. "Die hatten wir auch nicht, mein Schatz," she reminded him. "Languages can be learned. Ivan speaks English, and as far as I know, even some French, and I'm sure he'll enjoy teaching Matthew Russian. After all, playing teacher is almost as fun as playing doctor, no?"

This time, it was Roderich, who turned crimson and nearly choked on his cough. Ivan eyed him with renewed interest, his mind torn between imagining Roderich in Elizaveta in any sort of sexual situation or position (_ew!_) and imagining the same sort of situation involving him and Matthew (the room temperature rose about ten degrees).

"Having daydreams, are we?" Elizaveta asked him, smirking, before patting Roderich on the back in a motherly fashion. "Now, now. I thought I had cured you of some of that prudery. Hm… must have been mistaken… anyway, back to business – Ivan, when is the next meeting that both you and Matthew are attending?"

"A week from now, Tokyo," Ivan replied, his battered heart fluttering uneasily in his chest at the prospect. He quickly put a preventative hand over it.

"That's good," Elizaveta purred (the sound sent shivers down Ivan's spine), "Kiku is reasonable. I'm sure I can get him to cooperate. Now, here's the plan – I'll ensure that you are placed next to Matthew at the conference table, as far away as possible from Alfred, Francis and Arthur. I'll also ensure that you get adjacent hotel rooms, preferably far away from anyone who might feel apprehensive about this. The rest is up to you, though I might give you some pointers, if you ask me nicely."

"What do you want in return?" Ivan asked suspiciously.

A slow smile crept across her face. "Oh, we'll come to that in due time."

Ivan felt as if he was entering into a pact with the devil – albeit a very attractive female devil. But then… if it would help him to get Matthew…?

Slowly, he nodded.

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><p><em>Die hatten wir auch nicht, mein Schatz = Neither did we, darling<em>


	6. Paris: Parental Consent

_Hi everyone, many, many thanks for your wonderful reviews on the last chapters! I'm glad you like this story! This chapter is set in Paris, and guess whom Mattie is talking to…? Right, Francis. They would obviously be having their conversation in French, but it would have taken me twice as long to actually write it in French, and I wanted to spare you the wait (and my mistakes)._

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><p>While Arthur and the two German brothers were certainly among the worst people to go to for relationship advice, Francis as the self-proclaimed high priest of <em>l'amour <em>seemed a logical choice. Even though Matthew still felt slightly apprehensive, he had decided that his need for advice outweighed the risk of hearing things he did not want to know about. Besides, dinner in Paris was not something that anybody (other than Arthur) turned down without regrets. Francis, for all his annoying habits, was a wonderful cook.

"If this goes on, I'll have serious weight issues by the time Christmas arrives," Matthew commented after swallowing the last spoonful of Crème brûlée. "First _Plätzchen_ with Ludwig and Feliciano, now this…"

"Nonsense," Francis huffed. "As long as you keep playing sports rather than just watching them like your brother does, I see no real danger of you gaining any weight. But why did you visit Ludwig and his little Italian?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to Gilbert, but they sort of stuck around. I… uh… I needed some advice."

Francis raised his eyebrows. "And what advice could _Gilbert_ give you?"

He had a point there, Matthew thought. "None, as it turned out. He appeared to be… opposed to the whole idea."_ Jealous_, his mind supplied.

"What idea?" Curiosity sparkled in Francis' lively eyes and he leant forward across the table.

_I might as well tell him_, Matthew thought, _and test my theory about bad guys being okay as long as they are good-looking… on the other hand - is Ivan good-looking?_

He tried to take a look at Ivan through Francis' eyes and failed miserably. It was difficult, trying to see people through the eyes of somebody whose judgment was erratic and not based on any logical pattern, much less moral standards. Matthew was fascinated by the color of both Ivan's eyes and hair, since both were highly unusual, but would Francis feel the same way? Ivan was certainly not handsome in the common sense of the word. He shrugged slightly and decided that it did not really matter. Trying to predict Francis' reaction to _anything_ had always been like trying to come up with a weather forecast for any given day of the following year.

"The idea of me having a thing for Ivan. Gilbert didn't seem to like it much," he replied as casually as possible.

"Oh-ho," Francis said, genuinely taken aback. "_Russia_?"

"Do you know anyone else named Ivan?"

"Well, I did know quite a few people named Ivan, but… anyway, _our Ivan_? Big, bad, scary Ivan? I'm impressed."

"By my bad taste?" Matthew asked, smiling wryly.

"By your audacity, mon cher Mathieu! And the fact that you have managed to keep it secret so far."

"So you're not… mad?" Matthew asked hopefully.

"Mad…?" Francis asked, frowning. "No, I suppose not. Slightly worried, maybe. It is, after all, Ivan we are talking about and… well, I guess he has a certain reputation…" He looked at Matthew, shrugging almost apologetically. "Does he not scare you?"

"He does," Matthew admitted, thinking of the few times he had seen Ivan truly angry at somebody (usually Alfred). Nobody, not even Yao, could create an atmosphere of fear like Ivan could. "But he has never been… he has never hurt me, you know? Not intentionally, at least. He misplaced a fist once that was intended for Alfred, but that was my own fault for trying to intervene. And I don't know why, but I have a feeling that he would never hurt me. It's very strange; a part of me is scared of him, but at the same time, I feel safe when I'm with him… protected. Remember that one time when Norway made us attend that stupid conference in Trondheim? I slipped and Ivan…"

"… carried you inside; yes, I remember." Francis nodded. "I thought that was strange, back then. Ivan rarely does anything nice for anyone; I think he just doesn't care about people – neither humans, nor his fellow nations."

"Exactly. That's when I began to wonder… why me? People tend to forget me, even my friends. And Ivan had no reason to be friendly. According to my government and diplomats, our relations are good – friendly, productive, diverse; you know the terminology they use. But let's face it, they're nothing special. Ludwig and his people spend a lot more time negotiating with Ivan than we do, and that's despite their history."

"Ludwig is different, though. He's a terrible workaholic, for one thing, and his politicians are a bit too fond of the idea of being responsible for everything bad that happened in Europe in the past century, and therefore are obsessed with preventing crisis and ensuring peace and stability. From the emphasis they put on Franco-German relations, you'd think he considers us engaged. But back to you and Ivan – why do you think that his sudden interest has to be politically motivated? Frankly, I believe that to be very unlikely. Ivan may have changed, but deep down, he is still thinking in categories of black and white – or more accurately, red and not-red. He and Alfred have a lot more in common than they realize. And when you think in those categories, Canada definitely belongs with America. Now, Ivan may not be the sanest person around, but he is a shrewd politician. You are a very unlikely, not to mention a difficult ally and despite his show of force, Ivan would not want to annoy Alfred _too_ much. Besides, he doesn't need you. He has very few friends, but enough potential partners to do business with."

"So why me…?"

Francis smiled wistfully. "We may be nations, but we are people, too, you know. We have two faces, two pairs of eyes, and one of those might see you in a different light than the other. Is Canada interested in Russia? Not particularly, you just told me that. But is Matthew interested in Ivan…? I should say yes. And maybe it's the same for Ivan, who knows…?"

"I suppose it's possible," Matthew replied, thinking of a white rose that was resting in an inconspicuous black box lined with satin atop his writing desk in Ottawa. The rose was dried and fragile and it had lost its smell, but Matthew cherished it like a talisman. "And you don't think it's… strange? Ivan and me…?" He asked.

Francis shrugged. "Attractions are not something you choose. You don't wake up in the morning thinking, _'well, let's see, today I could fall in love with Ivan'_, do you? So why would I blame you? It's _l'amour_. Love conquers all."

"I love your optimistic attitude," Matthew replied. "Especially, since everybody else appears to be a bit skeptical, to say the least. Well – except Feliciano, but that's no great surprise."

"Bless him, he's such a gentle, innocent creature," Francis agreed cheerfully. "And very cute, too. It's a shame Ludwig is such a killjoy. They would make a lovely couple."

Thinking of Feliciano snuggling up to a blushing Ludwig, Matthew replied: "They _do_ make a lovely couple. Their relationship is just a bit… different."

"Ah, and you hope that yours and Ivan's would be, too?" Francis asked shrewdly.

He had hit the nail on the head. Matthew was neither stupid nor completely blind, and when it had first occurred to him to think of Ivan of something other than the very impersonation of tyranny and the communist menace, he had spent a considerable amount of time in his national library, researching people that Ivan had been associated in the past and re-examining their relationships. The result had been far from auspicious.  
>Still, and with the desperate hope that is love's closest companion, Matthew thought that maybe, he could be the exception. The one person that Ivan would love and cherish and protect; the one that would not end up hopeless, terrified and broken.<p>

"Well…", he replied with a forced smile that was supposed to throw Francis off track, "I don't think Ludwig would go for French kisses in public, but Ivan did, so… no. Not a Ludwig-and-Feli kind of relationship. Maybe the grown-up version?"

"An R-rated version of Ludwig and Feli?" Francis suggested, smirking. "Do tell Ivan, he'll be delighted!"

"You think so…?" Matthew asked doubtfully. "Everybody else seems to think that Ivan will eat me alive. Except Ludwig. Ludwig said that the idea had potential… but then of course, he was looking at the _political_ side of it."

"One should never mix politics and romance," Francis said, shaking his head.

"Because it messes up the politics?"

"Because it messes up the romance. So – you want to declare your undying love to Ivan?"

Matthew's blush deepened. "I thought I'd start by telling him that I like him," he muttered.

"Oh no, if you do it, it should be done properly! I will help you, of course. It's your first time, no? Ah, how exciting! Young love…" Francis' cheeks glowed with excitement.

"Well, that'd be just me. Ivan isn't exactly young…"

"That's true," Francis admitted. "Still…"

"Do you think it matters?" Matthew asked anxiously. "My age… his age…? I mean, would _you_ date someone my age…?

Francis chuckled. "Chéri, I'm not a pedophile… Russia might be, though."

_Well, thanks, Francis!_; Matthew thought sarcastically. _That's just the image I needed!_  
>"Technically, I'm grown up," he replied moodily. "In our case, it would be incest, rather than pedophilia."<p>

Francis waved it away with a negligent movement of his perfectly manicured left hand. "Fine. But incest isn't up my aisle, either… now that I come to think of it, it's a good thing you came to see me and not your other parent. You and Alfred look very much alike. I, of course, can see the subtle differences, since you are my son, but Arthur seems to have lost his judgment, so he might not be able to do so."

Matthew blushed furiously, then turned very pale, his eyes wide. "Are you implying that…"

_Arthur? ARTHUR? And… and… Alfred…?_

Francis shrugged. "It is merely a suspicion, but a rather strong suspicion." Then he noticed his son's distress. "Ah, chéri, I didn't mean to upset you. Your naiveté is very charming, but sometimes I forget how truly innocent you are. Forgive me, and forget what I said… now, Ivan – we want to concentrate on your problem, don't we…?"

"Yes, but… Arthur? And Alfred! How do you… I mean…" Matthew was at a loss for words. He could not imagine… okay, maybe he could, but… well, actually, there had been _hints_. Arthur and Alfred were close. Always had been, always would be. Still, Matthew in his innocence had always supposed their relationship to still be a father-son bond, or at least a brotherly one. Maybe he was mistaken, though.

He looked at Francis, eyebrows raised. "And you have known of this… for how long…?"

"Oh, quite a while, your brother is terribly bad at keeping secrets," Francis huffed. "And I have known Arthur for all my life."

"But it's… it's _wrong_! At least I suppose so…"

"You suppose so?" Francis asked, sounding amused. "Actually, it's not nearly as bad as it sounds. We all know that the kinship between Arthur and Alfred is a historical, rather than an actual biological one. Arthur did not father Alfred or you in the human sense of the word."

"But he raised him," Matthew objected. "That's like… like Switzerland and Liechtenstein!"

"Er… how do you know that they don't…?" Francis smirked.

"Francis! No! They wouldn't!" _Ah, stop putting those images into my head! Please!_

Francis laughed. "Our brave old world is a decadent place, Mathieu. You and Ivan will cause a brief uproar, maybe even a tiny little scandal, but I don't think anybody will be too upset about it. And if I'm wrong, come talk to me again – I've got blackmail-material on _everyone_."

_That's probably because you've slept with nearly everyone, _Matthew thought.

"By the way – have you told Arthur?"

"What? No, of course not!"

"Pity. The news might have caused a storm in his teacup, but I think, eventually, he'd have understood… Alfred, of course, will pretend it's the end of the world. Your brother can be so… bothersome."

_Indeed._ Matthew sighed. "So, to sum this up – you're not mad at me and you don't think I've gone crazy. That's great, but what do we do now?"

Francis smiled and shrugged. "You will go home, catch up on your beauty-sleep and start thinking about what you will wear in Tokyo next week, and I suppose, I will have a little chat with Ivan."

"_You_ will talk to Ivan…? Francis, really, I appreciate the initiative, but I don't think…"

_No! Anything but THAT!_

"Bah, relax," Francis said, still smiling. "Ivan and I have had many an unpleasant conversation over the centuries, and this isn't going to be one of them."

"I suppose that depends on your point of perspective," Matthew muttered. He could imagine several possible versions of that conversation and pitied Ivan already.

"Ivan set fire on Moscow in 1812, because he wanted to get me and Napoleon off his land; how much worse could it possibly get? To deliberately destroy one of your own cities…" Francis shuddered. "Anyway, Ivan and I will have a nice little chat, and don't you worry. Just don't be late for the conference, eh?"

"Uh-huh," Matthew mumbled, still not convinced. Maybe he should have been grateful, but actually, he felt more worried now than before.

_I should not have told him! Francis and Ivan talking about ME…? Good Lord, have mercy…_

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><p><em>Notes:<em>

_I trust that everybody knows the name Napoleon. In September of 1812, he arrived in Moscow with his army. The city had been evacuated by the Russians, and the governor even set fire on it. In the end, the Russians were successful, and Napoleon had to draw back. He lost most of his army in the process (that's what you get for underestimating Russia, and especially the Russian winter!)._

_Crème brûlée is a wonderful dessert that not only the French-speaking world enjoys. If you have been to Spain, you might also know it as "crema catalana" (they even had that as an ice-cream flavor in Andalusia… yummy!)._

"_L'amour" means love, the "l" standing for the article "le". "Chéri" means "darling"; the female version would be "chérie". "Mon cher Mathieu" would consequently be translated as "my dear Matthew"._


	7. Interlude: French Connection

_- Attention please, the rating has just gone up, because of – well, Francis ;) He single-handedly raised it from K+ to T.  
>Enjoy the following chapter, and thank you very much for the many reviews on the last one! -<br>_

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><p>Ivan had imagined a dozen different ways of how he would prepare for his meeting with Matthew at the Tokyo conference, but having a conversation with Francis was <em>definitely <em>not one of them. He normally avoided talking to Francis outside a strictly diplomatic context, and in those meetings, he usually had a translator, an aide, an ambassador or a foreign minister to hide behind, if not all of them at once.

Truth be told, Ivan was wary of Francis. Alfred annoyed him, Yao he was secretly afraid of, but Francis… well, Francis messed with his head. Or at least, he tried to.

Like most of the older nations, Ivan had had the questionable pleasure to share a bed with the Frenchman a couple of times, which made any personal conversations awfully awkward. And this time, there was no way to escape – they were on a plane. The only way to avoid having to talk, or at least listen to Francis, was trying to open a door and pushing him out of the plane, and that _did_ seem a bit excessive. Besides, it would certainly not go down well with Matthew.

"So, Ivan…" Francis purred, leaning in. Ivan tried to hide behind a copy of the _Financial Times_. "What have you been up to lately?"

Ivan lowered the paper, doing his best to look intimidating and forbidding. "Meditating about the Euro crisis," he grumbled.

"Oh, have you?" Francis chirped, feigning interest. "How fascinating! And to what result? Do share, Ludwig seems to be running out of ideas by now."

"Do you think the EU would sell Greece to me?" Ivan asked drily.

"Possibly, my friend, but why would you want to buy Greece?"

Ivan shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I've always kind of liked the place. Warm weather, nice artwork. Besides, Heracles is easy to get along with. I could even keep the country and re-sell him to Sadiq, what do you think of that?"

Francis laughed. "I can see only one problem with that – Sadiq wants the country, too. But why don't you keep Heracles yourself? He's a nice enough chap. You could use some company, you know." Francis raised a suggestive eyebrow.

Ivan snorted. "Too bothersome."

"Who? Heracles, or the idea of keeping company in general…?"

_Here we go_, Ivan though, mentally bracing himself. "Both."

"Ah, now why do I not believe that…?" Francis smiled. "You know," he added conversationally," I tried to call you last week. Three times, actually."

"I was in Siberia. Reception can be pretty bad in some places." _And thank God for that!_

"More like 'nonexistent'", Francis replied. "Yes, your president told me."

"You asked Medvedev where I was?" Ivan replied incredulously. "He's not my secretary, you know."

"No, but he was most helpful. So, what were you doing in Siberia, except avoiding my call?"

"None of your business," Ivan huffed.

"Spoilsport. It's not the Cold War anymore, you know?"

"Oh?" Ivan asked, raising his brows. "Now that, Francis, is a matter of perspective. In fact, I am heading into another fight with Alfred as we speak. It never ended, and it never will."

"Well, if you are going to fight, you should at least have something meaningful to fight about," Francis said, and there was a strange glint in his eyes. It spooked Ivan, but he was not going to admit that.

"_Something meaningful_…", he mused. "I like the sound of that. But what?"

"Oh… I don't know…" Francis replied a bit too casually, "Say… Mathieu…?"

Ivan's head jerked up and he stared at the Frenchman. It was a stare that would have put many a nation to flight – but Francis was old and shrewd, and used to dealing with Russia.

"_Mathieu_," Ivan said slowly, "is French for _Matthew_; I know that much. Now, what would make you say that? What does little Canada have to do with mine and America's business?"

He felt himself going into defensive mode, his heartbeat first speeding up, then slowing, as he gradually became very calm, very guarded and calculating.

"Oh, I think you are making him your business," Francis replied lightly, but the words held an edge. _Don't underestimate me_, his tone of voice said, and Ivan never would. He knew this dance too well. Francis' stare matched his. There was amusement in his eyes, irony, but also a warning.

Ivan was silently weighing his options – deny everything or admit to it and deal with the consequences? He was not particularly afraid of Francis; he had faced the man before and won. But Francis had a lot of friends these days, and Ivan did not want the European countries to gang up on him.

"I never took you for a coward, Ivan," Francis chirped mockingly.

Ivan ground his teeth. His hands were itching to wrap around Francis' neck.

"I so hate to repeat myself," he growled: "None of your business."

"Now listen," Francis said, suddenly serious, and all traces of mocking humor gone from his voice and expression, "if your interest in Mathieu is what I believe it to be, you'll want to stay on my good side. And so far, you are not making a favorable impression. So… can we continue this talk in a civilized manner, or do you want to warm up the old hostilities?"

Francis had him there, even though Ivan hated to admit it. Very reluctantly, he nodded.

_Damn him!_

"Good," Francis purred. "It's so nice to see that you can be reasonable, too."

"Actually, I want to bash your head in," Ivan replied through gritted teeth.

"And yet, you aren't doing so," Francis remarked. "It's actually quite impressive. Restraint has never been your strongest side, and it always seemed to me as if you weren't even trying to control your inner madman. Yet you _aren't_ trying to bash my head in. In fact, you even seem to have left the accursed pipe at home in Moscow. Now, why is that, Ivan?"

Ivan loathed that superior tone of voice, but Francis was right. He had to give him some credit, Ivan thought, he was remarkably observant.

_You ask me __**why**__, Francis? Why? There's only one answer to that, and you have given it yourself – Matthew. I cannot bear the idea of anyone hurting him, but most of all, I cannot bear the idea of being the one who does it…_

The thought haunted Ivan, in his dreams and in all his waking hours. Matthew seemed such a slight, fragile creature… always forgotten by the other nations, so gentle, so weak… and Ivan had a long record of hurting weaker nations. He knew his own history better than anyone else; and in his lucid hours – and he had had a lot of those, lately – he also knew that he was still a danger to others.

_I will not hurt him. I cannot… let that happen to… us. I may not be able to completely control my dark side, but I CAN take precautions._

But deep down, a nagging voice insisted that he was fooling himself, and it grew stronger by the day.

_I should stay away from him. Far away. I cannot risk it…_

"I can't risk hurting him," he muttered, his own voice sounding strangely hoarse to his ears.

Francis looked at him with renewed interest, and when he spoke, his voice was almost kind. "That's very… considerate. I must say; I'm surprised, Ivan."

"There's nothing noble about shielding a loved one from harm, when you yourself are the greatest threat to his safety," Ivan replied bitterly.

"No, you're wrong," Francis said, once again leaning forward. "You're absolutely wrong. Few people have the guts to admit to themselves – and much less others! – that they are out of control. And even fewer would actively try to restrain themselves. It's so much easier to ignore your problems, or too push them off and leave others to deal with them."

"So you're saying I'm brave…? It's not bravery, it's madness! No sane person would even have to think about such things!"

"Most of us are insane in their own way," Francis replied drily, "it comes with the job. And none of us – except Ludwig – like to talk about our past crimes and wrongdoings. So you might as well let me compliment you, it's difficult enough as it is!"

"I don't want your compliments," Ivan rumbled. "I want my problem to go away."

"Rome ne s'est pas faite en un jour, mon ami." The smile was back.

Ivan frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, you understood me. Your French is better than you think."

"If you say so. By the way, why are you not screaming bloody murder? I just confessed to being… interested in your son. At the very least, you should be on the phone, trying to warn him." Ivan eyed him suspiciously. "You _knew_, didn't you?"

The smile broadened to a self-satisfied grin. "Mon ami – I know _everything_. At least when it concerns _l'amour… et ma famille._" Then, noticing Ivan's less-than-happy expression, he added: "Your secret is safe with me."

"But I don't want it to be a secret," Ivan objected.

"Well, bravo! Love is nothing to be ashamed of. You ought to tell Matthew first, though."

"I don't think he likes me back," Ivan replied unhappily, "he does appear to be terrified of me."

"Hm…" Francis gave him a once-over. "Well I can assure you, that is quite normal and understandable. You _are_ rather terrifying. Especially when you get that look… you know, _the look_? The one that sends _Gilbert_ running and crying for his brother…?"

Ivan smiled fondly.

Francis shuddered. "What I wanted to say," he continued, "is that fear doesn't necessarily have to be bad. It does add a certain thrill…"

Ivan's smile disappeared. "You don't understand," he replied. "People have been scared of me for as long as I can remember. It has been useful at times, and it can be fun, but it's also dangerous. It empowers my… other side. The one I do not want to resurface when I'm with Matthew. A weak and terrified nation, and it's so easy to play cat and mice with them, to bully them, watch them cringe, and push them over the edge… such excitement, such a feeling of _power… _it's addicting. And I don't want a second Lithuania…"

"That's good to know," Francis muttered, as if making a mental note, and for some reason, Ivan got the feeling that he had just earned a brownie point. Then his expression brightened. "You know," he said, his voice teasing, "there _are_ other ways to get turned on."

Ivan rolled his eyes. _Typical. I tell him about a serious problem, and he, well…_

Upon noticing his expression, Francis raised his hands. "No, no, I'm serious. I got it, Ivan: violence gets you excited. Now, I won't say that's okay, but it's certainly not that uncommon. Don't get me wrong – if you so much as lift a finger to harm my little boy, I will make you pay… in a way that will make de Sade look like a naughty schoolboy. But since you have said that you don't want to hurt him, and I believe you, I'm offering my help. I have some… experience, shall we call it that…? Certainly a lot more than you do."

_Now who is the 'master of understatement'?_ Ivan thought ironically. _Experience…? Compared to you, Francis, Casanova was a monk._

"So, what does your _experience_ tell you?" he asked.

"Well, for one thing, that sex should be about fun. Preferably for everyone involved. And it's certainly a lot less fun if you feel bad afterwards, so you'll want to avoid that. In your case that means not harming the person you sleep with… actually, not harming _anyone_, no matter if you sleep with them or not, should be the ultimate goal. But how do we achieve that?"

"You tell me," Ivan said, crossing his arms. He was not too happy with the turn this conversation had taken, but at the same time, he felt intrigued.

"Everybody has their little issues, when it comes to sex. Take Arthur, for example. He is an insufferable prude. Most of the time, that prevents him from having any sex at all, which makes his life rather boring and lonely. But you know, deep down, Arthur doesn't really want to be lonely. All he needs to do is to relax a little, and to let go of his fears and inhibitions. Alcohol does the trick quite nicely. Just a little, not too much, mind you. Alfred will forever be indebted to me for _that_ bit of advice."

"Arthur is sleeping with Alfred? That's disgusting." Ivan frowned and tried very hard not to think about that in graphic detail.

"Actually, it's the other way around, but yes. And you shouldn't be so quick to judge other people. Let's focus on your own problem, shall we? The reason I told you that little story is that I wanted to make a point: there's always a way to deal with those issues. So you have a tendency to get violent, and that does not make you very popular. You've told me that it excites you, that it _gives you a feeling of power_. What it all boils down to is that you like to be in control. You like to have others follow your orders; you like to make them do things, even against their will. You like to see them weak, because it makes you feel strong. That's not a very nice trait, but we are what we are. Well, here's the good news, Ivan – dominance doesn't have to be violent. You can be in control without hurting somebody… if the other party involved _lets_ you control them voluntarily. Of course, you do have to trust them to let you do it, but in a committed relationship, that shouldn't be a problem."

"What exactly are you suggesting?" Ivan asked, still unsure where this was leading.

"I have one word for you, Ivan – no, actually, two: bondage and role-playing. There's no need to blush and cough, both are socially acceptable these days, at least among modern, civilized people. You would not believe what… ah, but I digress. Anyway, I think you can easily satisfy your need for control without harming anybody."

"Are you suggesting that I tie your son to a bed…?" Ivan stared at him, his face a little flushed. He could not believe this.

"Well…", Francis smiled, "it doesn't necessarily have to be a bed. And I'd strongly suggest you ask him first!"

"You are making fun of me, aren't you?"

"No." Francis shook his head. "I'm serious. I think I've found the solution to your problem. You should thank me, you know."

Ivan felt at a loss for words. "Er… okay. This is… strange."

His head was spinning. Damn Francis! Stupid Frenchman, always trying to mess with his head! Now he had images of Mattie tied to a bed assaulting him, in various positions, and they were… tempting.

But what if Francis was right?

"But I don't know…"

The smile was back, and this time, it looked a bit patronizing. "Oh, don't worry. I'll get you a shopping list. And a list of places to go, people to talk to. In fact, I know this woman in Rouen, her name is Malvina, she's a dominatrix and very well versed in…"

"I do _not_ want to hear that, Francis!" Ivan said emphatically, covering his ears with his hands.

* * *

><p><em>Rome ne s'est pas faite en un jour, mon ami. <em>_= Rome was not built in one day, my friend._

_l'amour… et ma famille. = love… and my family_

_Donatien Alphonse François, Marquis de Sade, was a French aristocrat of the 18th century. He spent a large part of his life imprisoned, which did not keep him from writing a number of works of questionable taste. Actually, he was probably better than his reputation. Some of his crimes would not be considered that scandalous today – such as homosexuality or sleeping with his wife's sister – but then, he'd still go to prison for murder, rape and sexual harassment. Francis, however, is referring to the popular image of de Sade that paints him as a monster capable of unspeakable depravities and links him to other illustrious figures, such as Gilles de Rais or Elizabeth Báthory._

_Giacomo Casanova, was an 18th century Italian author and – according to his own autobiography (which comprises 12 volumes, and in its German translation, nearly fills an entire shelf by itself) – the greatest womanizer of all times. I don't know if that's true, but he sure had a way with words, and the autobiography is quite entertaining to read._


	8. Tokyo:  Arrival

As always, Ludwig arrived a little early for the conference. Kiku had a sneaking suspicion that if there even was such a thing as a malfunctioning clock in the entirety of Germany (questionable) it had to be hanging in Ludwig's kitchen. That, or he arrived early by design.

The conference room was almost empty, but for the large table. A few liveried aides were swarming around, distributing papers and bottles of water. In one of the far corners of the room, Elizaveta and Roderich were putting their heads together, whispering. At the other end of the table, Denmark, who had arrived a day too early by mistake, and was consequently in a foul mood, was on the phone, presumably telling off a member of his staff.

Ludwig frowned as he squinted to read the name tags that had been put up at each seat. "Why change the seating arrangements?"

Kiku shrugged. "I thought it might mix things up a little. It's boring to always be sitting next to the same people. Besides, it might give people a chance to talk somebody that they aren't that familiar with."

Ludwig's frown deepened. "Is there any kind of logic or system to this?"

"Elizaveta suggested that I write all the names on little scraps of paper and then distribute them at random. I think it's a good idea, but unfortunately, I was quite busy yesterday, so I let her do it."

"Well…" Ludwig's gaze travelled along the side of the table. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea. You put Arthur between _Francis_ and _Alfred_! That can only lead to trouble. And at Alfred's other side… is that _Cuba?_ And why split up the Baltics? Switzerland and Liechtenstein are next to each other, and Sweden and Finland… but did you have to put Turkey next to Greece? Sadiq will have a field day… Russia's next to China, okay, that might actually work, they do seem to get along at the moment… and at least, Antonio is next to Lovino, so he can keep the little menace in check. Roderich will hate you though, for putting him next to Gilbert."

"It will be fine," Kiku told him with a reassuring smile.

"_Dein Wort in Gottes Ohr_," Ludwig muttered.

* * *

><p>When Matthew entered the conference room, it was just starting to fill with nations. He had left Alfred searching for Arthur, trying very hard not to think about the two of them in any context but a professional one. Right at the door, he ran into an over-excited Cuba, who was on the run from Vash after getting a little too friendly with Liechtenstein. "Hey Matteo, it's nice to see you – ah, gotta go! Later!" And with that, he disappeared.<p>

Matthew hid a smile. He made his way across the room, noticing that the German brothers, as well as both Italies and Spain were already at their seats. Kiku was at the other side of the table, talking to a sour-faced Denmark. His seat was at the far end of the table, next to Finland, who was paying no attention to him, as he was busy straightening Sweden's wayward tie.

And then, he froze as he noticed two things: One was that - whether by design or by accident - somebody had put him next to Russia. The second was the freshly cut white rose resting atop his chair.

Matthew's heart skipped a beat, and involuntarily, he started looking for Ivan, but all he saw was Alfred and Arthur entering the room in the company of New Zealand and Australia. Matthew stared at the pair – _couple_, his mind supplied and he instantly shrank back from the thought. Alfred was laughing and recounting some tale, he was being his usual loud, boastful and jovial self. Nothing in his behavior towards Arthur suggested an intimate relationship. Maybe Francis had been pulling his leg? But Francis did not usually joke about such matters…

He tore his gaze from the smiling American and scowling Brit and looked down at the rose. What a delicate thing it was, beautiful in its fragility, its flower the pure white of alabaster.

_Why a white rose, though?_ he wondered. The first rose, the one he kept in his office in Ottawa, had been white, too. _What does a white rose traditionally stand for? – Purity, innocence. Does that mean Ivan wants to tell me that his intentions are pure? That I need not fear him? Or does he mean to tell me that __**I**__ am the white rose, the pure, the innocent. The one who will blush when kissed, from white rose to red, never to be innocent again…? White roses also stood for secrecy, is he telling me that we share a secret? And last but not least, they are traditional bridal flowers…_

While he was lost in thought, all around him, the other nations took their seats. Sadiq and Heracles had arrived and were bickering, to the great amusement of Berwald. Yao stepped to his seat near Matthew's, nodded and offered a quiet greeting. Across the room, Lovino caused a commotion by hitting his brother, who retaliated by grabbing Ludwig's stapler off the table and throwing it at him. It was a narrow miss, and the stapler slithered across the table until it hit Bulgaria's folder. Matthew watched as Antonio rushed in, grabbing Lovino by his shirt, and talking at him in a low, authoritative tone of voice. Feliciano rubbed his head, looking somewhat bemused, and accepted the attentions of Ludwig, who looked as if he could not decide whether to be worried or annoyed.

His eyes still on Ludwig and Feli, the latter now sitting down next to a scowling Lovino, who turned his back to Antonio at his other side, Matthew suddenly felt the soft touch of fingers running through his hair. While the feeling startled him, it did not alarm him at first. Having grown up with Francis, who had never been able to keep his hands to himself, Matthew was more than used to being touched at random times and without any obvious reason. In fact, this was _exactly_ the sort of thing Francis would do to announce his presence. Matthew let out a small sigh and resolved to ignore the intrusion – and truth be told, the touch felt nice. Those fingers were warm and gentle, carefully stroking through his hair the way one might pet a cat.

It was only when Francis cheerfully waved at him from the other side of the table that he noticed that there was a major flaw to his theory. _Wait_ – if Francis was waving at him from his seat between Arthur and Toris, then _who the hell_ was standing behind him…? And why did Toris' expression suggest that the world was about to come to a sudden and violent end? Actually, when he looked for the other two Baltics, he found that they, as well as Poland, were wearing very similar expressions…

_Stupid, stupid Matthew._

There was only one thing all three Baltic States and Poland were jointly terrified of:

_Russia._

* * *

><p>Ivan had seen Matthew, and <em>only<em> Matthew, as soon as he entered the room. He had brushed past his older sister, ignoring her friendly greeting, past Toris, who ducked instinctively out of his way, and had barely noticed the smug grin on Francis' face. He had moved along the long side of the table without noticing the fact that Switzerland was attempting to murder Cuba, had not responded to Kiku's welcome and had paid no attention whatsoever to the bickering between Turkey and Greece.  
>Rounding the corner and passing Sweden and Finland, he finally stood behind Matthew, hesitating.<p>

He felt as if all eyes were resting on him, daring him to do something, say something, anything… in truth, nearly everybody was looking everywhere else but at him, dividing their attention between their personal feuds and the argument between the two Italian brothers. There were only a few curious pairs of eyes watching him intently. Roderich was looking at him, completely unperturbed by the commotion Feliciano and Lovino created right next to him. Francis of course, still smirking. And a few seats down from him, Elizaveta was watching, her dark eyes daring him to make a wrong move. Matthew himself, however, had not noticed him.

Ivan looked down at him. The white rose he had so carefully placed that very morning lay on the table, and Matthew's pale fingers were absentmindedly toying with it.

_So you like my gift, do you…?_

Ivan felt a flutter inside his chest. Hope was spreading its wings like a tiny bird.

His hands itched with the desire to touch Matthew, to translate all the words that were stuck in his throat into caresses. He looked across the table at Elizaveta, who gave an impatient jerk of her head.

_Do something already!_

Ivan swallowed hard. Matthew was still distracted by the Italian family squabble. He looked down at those soft, golden curls, and his hand seemed to move out of its own accord. He saw Matthew start briefly, then relax into the touch, and his heart skipped a beat.

_Is he really…?_

"Ivan," Matthew whispered.

* * *

><p>Realization hit him with the force of another hockey player slamming into him on the field at full speed.<p>

"Ivan," he whispered, unable to say whether he was shocked or thrilled. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

Ivan's fingers froze, curled into his hair. Matthew heard his sharp intake of breath and wished he had not uttered the name. Now the spell was broken, and he would have to do something about it, preferably something that would keep Ivan from backing off.

"You… you did not need to stop. I… was just… surprised." Why, oh why was he stammering like an idiot?

"Oh." was all Ivan said in reply. He pulled his hand back, then added: "I'm sorry."

Matthew had had enough. In his opinion, it would clearly have been Ivan's job to take their relationship, or whatever it was they had, to the next level, since _he _had been the one who had been courting Matthew for years. Since Ivan failed to see this, however, Matthew himself would have to step in, because God knew he was getting tired of waiting any longer!

"Ivan," he said fighting to keep his voice steady, "sit down. I'm sure, Kiku is eager to commence, and nearly everybody in the room is staring at us, wondering what the hell is going on. So let's just play nice and behave ourselves for the time being, okay? But just so you know – you and I have a lunch appointment. _In private_."

To his very great surprise, the mighty Russia let himself be ordered around by a gentle, weak nation that was usually overlooked by all the others. Ivan obediently took his seat, and then turned to smile his strangely beatific smile at Matthew. Only this time, it was less creepy and rather like the sun breaking through the clouds after a rainy day.

Ivan probably had no idea, but that smile made Matthew's insides melt away like butter.

"I should like that," he said softly.

Matthew nodded, and forcibly jerked his gaze away from Ivan and towards Kiku, who was in the process of delivering the opening speech of the conference. And if he wore a goofy smile for the remainder of the morning and failed to take any notes whatsoever… well, that was hardly his fault, was it?

* * *

><p><em>Dein Wort in Gottes Ohr! <em>_= Let's hope so, by goodness!_

_Thank you once again for your wonderful reviews! I'm glad you're still with me.  
><em>


	9. Tokyo: Revelation

Usually, Matthew strongly resented being ignored by his fellow nations, but now it was actually proving to be quite helpful: by the time lunch arrived, most of the others appeared to have lost interest in him and Ivan.  
>Ludwig was midway through a droning speech that seemed designed to put his fellow nations to sleep. It did the job quite nicely – Feliciano, Lovino, Raivis and Gilbert were already asleep, while Alfred, Antonio and Tino looked as if they were about to doze off rather soon.<p>

Of course, though, there were others still throwing him the occasional curious (or worried) glance, not to mention the two people who were staring outright – Francis and Elizaveta.  
>Matthew had expected Francis to keep a close eye on him. The Frenchman was having the time of his life. Matthew had to give him some credit though, because Francis was doing a very good job at purposefully distracting both Arthur and Alfred. In fact, Alfred didn't pose that much of a problem right now, since he was half asleep, stifling a yawn now and then and struggling to keep his eyes open. Arthur, on the other hand, seemed wide awake and Matthew had caught several rather suspicious glances from <em>that<em> corner of the table, so he was very glad for Francis' _'help'_. There were few things that annoyed Arthur as much as his troublesome continental ally and one-time partner.

Elizaveta, though… well, actually, she had no reason whatsoever to be looking at him that way. Matthew rarely talked to her, and was in fact quite astonished that she even acknowledged his existence. After a while, he realized that she was actually watching _Ivan _rather than him, and that there was something provocative in her gaze. It wasn't exactly malicious, though. In fact, it seemed as if she was trying to communicate something with that look… and maybe _encouraging_ Ivan, as strange and disturbing as that sounded.

He looked about the room for Roderich, surprised to find that he wasn't seated anywhere near Elizaveta. Matthew wondered whatever had possessed Kiku to place the Austrian next to _Gilbert_, of all people. Poor Roderich. No wonder he was busying himself with his papers, trying to ignore the softly snoring Prussian at his side. Even though a sleeping Gilbert was probably vastly preferable to the alternative… at least from Roderich's point of view.

As Ludwig wrapped up his speech, Matthew grew nervous and started shifting in his seat. He knew what this meant. Very soon now, Kiku would adjourn the meeting for lunch, everybody would get up, shake awake their neighbors and leave the room in search of food… or people they wanted to talk to. Matthew was pretty sure that he could manage to slip out of the room quietly and nearly unnoticed, but as for Ivan – well, _'inconspicuously' _was not really the right word to describe Ivan in any context.

Reaching a sudden conclusion, he leant closer and murmured: "I need you to do something for me."

Ivan looked down at him with a benevolent, almost tender expression on his face that caused Matthew's heart to flutter uneasily. "Anything."

Matthew swallowed hard. There was something about Ivan that made it really difficult to think straight, much less put his thoughts into coherent sentences… and this time, it wasn't fear. He took a deep breath. "Okay… several people in this room are currently very curious and they are watching us. And I really don't want to spend lunchtime being interrogated by them. I can slip out of the room, but I think, a distraction might be in order… you don't suppose you could just casually hit Alfred on your way out? Not very hard, just enough to make him jump up and explode like one of Arthur's teakettles. That should do the trick."

Ivan's purple eyes widened slightly and then he chuckled. It was a deep, rumbling, but not unpleasant sound, an expression of genuine good humor and nothing like his mad, scary laughter. "You want me to hit your brother? I'll do it gladly. Not that I'd need an excuse to pick a fight with Alfred, but if you're giving me one…"

"I don't want you to actually hurt him," Matthew clarified quickly, because Ivan appeared a bit too fond of the idea. "Just provoke him a little bit, you know… Al is very predictable in his reactions, and of course, Arthur and Francis will have to hold him back, and Ludwig will come running, and Fidel will stick out his tongue at him, and so on, and in all the commotion, everybody will forget about their curiosity for a moment."

Realization dawned in Ivan's eyes and his smile widened to a devious grin. "Oh, but of course…" he said. "Yes, that should work. You are quite clever, Matvey."

"Um… thanks…?" Matthew had to look away. It was just a little offhand compliment, probably not even meant as anything special, but…

_Maple, Ivan, you have no idea what you're doing to me…! And that name! Francis should take lessons. Not even his most seductive bedroom version of 'Mathieu' comes close to this… not that I ever want to hear Francis using his bedroom voice on me…_

* * *

><p>Matthew was pleased to find that his little plan worked quite well. He got up as soon as Kiku had finished his announcements about lunch and the schedule for the afternoon and managed to slip out of the room while everybody else was still gathering their papers and stretching. He hovered in the shadows near the door, listening for the expected uproar Ivan's staged little fight with Alfred would cause.<p>

"Oh! There you are!" A female voice suddenly sounded from behind him. Matthew spun around and to his very great dismay faced Elizaveta. She was dressed in a custom-tailored grey business outfit and wore a very smug expression on her face.

"Er… yes…?"

"Listen," Elizaveta said quickly, looking around as if expecting the others to emerge from the room at any moment, "you are probably not aware of this yet, but you have a lunch date. Go to room 402. You'll find the door open and lunch already served."

Matthew stared at her. "I… what…? Oh, but I… I actually already have… plans," he stammered.

… _with Ivan_, his mind supplied. _And I wouldn't miss _that_ particular appointment for the world!_

Elizaveta shook her head impatiently. "No, you don't. Or at least, nothing as important as this. There is somebody who would dearly love to meet you… in private. And it's my job to make sure that you'll be there."

Now that, Matthew decided, was seriously creepy. He contemplated running, but knowing Elizaveta, she would probably be able to chase him down even wearing high heels. And God only knew what methods she would employ to get him to do what she wanted…!

"Just do it, Matthew!" she snapped irritably.

"You remember my name?" Matthew asked, taken aback.

"Of course, you ninny! I spent several days listening to an amorous Russian sigh and cry and whisper your name – which, by the way, was a very disturbing experience – so of course I would remember it."

Matthew's chin dropped. So _that_ was the reason Elizaveta had been staring at Ivan all the time! And Ivan had told her…?

But most of all… "Ivan told you he's in love with me…?"

"Oh dear, I guess I wasn't supposed to tell you that, was I? But anyway – yes, he did. He's doting on you. And now get upstairs, so he can tell you himself. Because that's the whole point of this exercise."

And Matthew did as he was told, moving through the long hallways of the building in a trancelike state…

* * *

><p>Truth be told, Ivan had an inordinate amount of fun carrying out Matthew's little plan. He got to nettle Alfred <em>and<em> do something for his sweetheart - how much better could life get? Alfred was still stretching groggily, and apparently ignoring Arthur's scolding, when Ivan walked past him and negligently punched him in the side. Matthew had said not to hurt him badly and Ivan made sure to aim low enough not to break a rib or two, but it had to hurt a little in order to make Alfred mad, right…?

He watched with satisfaction as his favorite enemy doubled over, his hands instinctively clutching the spot Ivan had just hit. Yep, there were some sensitive organs situated between the hipbones and the end of the ribcage… and Ivan's aim was usually flawless. He had had a lot of practice over the years.

Just as Arthur spotted him and cried out in dismay, Alfred realized what had happened. Ivan decided that _now_ was probably a good time to exit the room. And no, he was _not_ whistling as he pushed past Toris, who stared at him open-mouthed, his eyes widened in shock.

Absolutely not.

Alfred was shouting something, but Ivan felt confident that Arthur and Francis would be able to hold him back. Nevertheless, he sped up his pace a little. Matthew would probably get upset if he made him wait because he had to fend off a livid American first.

Just outside the door, he met Elizaveta, who was about to re-enter the room to see what the shouting was all about.

Her face broke into a conspiratorial smile when she saw him. "Everything's set up, and I sent him upstairs. You owe me one, Ivan."

"That I do," he agreed. "But I'm sure you'll call in the favor in time. Thank you."

Elizaveta smirked. "Enjoy your lunch."

* * *

><p>Matthew's heart was beating so fast that he imagined he could hear it thumping painfully against his ribcage. The whole strange, terrifying, wonderful, unbelievable – he was running out of adjectives here – truth had finally caught up with him once he reached the innocent-looking redwood door of room 402. Elizaveta had spoken the truth – the door was unlocked. It opened into a tastefully furnished room that appeared to be the center-piece of a small suite.<p>

A table was set for lunch in the middle of the room and somebody had even taken the time to place bouquets of white roses and calla in three vases.

Matthew walked around the table, looking at the covered platters and realizing that he absolutely wasn't hungry. In fact, he felt slightly nauseous and probably wouldn't be able to eat one bite.

Not to mention carrying on an actual conversation with Ivan.

_Is it always this awkward…?_ He wondered. _I can't do this. I… I will make a complete fool of myself, and Ivan will be angry, or disgusted, and he will turn away, and…_

The door opened once again and Ivan entered the room with halting steps. His eyes sought out Matthew, who froze like a deer caught in the headlights. All he could think was: _He told Elizaveta that he loves me. And now, he is going to tell me. And I'm not prepared._

"Alfred is furious," Ivan reported. He seemed a little out of breath and, if his demeanor was anything to go by, felt ill at ease.

"Oh," was all Matthew managed to say in reply.

Hesitatingly, Ivan advanced another two steps. The door fell shut behind him and Matthew started at the sound.

"You are…" Ivan began, just as Matthew started to say "I don't…"

They both looked at each other and smiled uneasily.

"After you," Ivan said.

"No… after you. I… don't know what to say."

The smile grew a nuance warmer and more confident. And this, Matthew thought, was the worst possible moment to notice that Ivan actually had dimples when he smiled.

Ivan took another step forward and was suddenly very close. "So you liked my rose," he said.

"I… I… yes." Matthew wanted to bash his head against a wall or the tabletop. _I sound like an imbecile! Think, Matthew, think… you are terribly attracted to this guy, can't you just stop behaving like an idiot?_

Ivan made a soft humming noise that sounded like a pleased acknowledgement of his answer and stretched out his hand to touch Matthew's hair once again. Matthew instinctively shut his eyes as he felt Ivan's fingers touch his temple.

"Your hair is very soft."

"Mhm."

_Please don't stop. It feels nice._

He caught a sharp intake of breath from Ivan and opened his eyes only to be met with an astonished but also hopeful expression. "Oh dear, I said that out loud, didn't I…?"

Ivan nodded. His fingers trailed down Matthew's cheek and the side of his neck, and _'nice'_ turned into the understatement of the century.

"I want to kiss you." This time, he said it aloud _and_ on purpose. And managed to form a coherent sentence, no less. Way to go, Matthew…

He watched Ivan stare, swallow, then give another nod. His left arm went around Matthew's waist, pulling him closer, while his left hand gently moved to tilt up Matthew's chin. Their lips met; Ivan had to bend down, and Matthew had to stretch, but what the hell did it matter…? This was bliss.

Ivan's heady smell, sharing his breath, lips, tongues, teeth, Ivan's hands roaming his back, neck and shoulders, pressing him close, the warmth of his large body… Matthew had no idea how long it lasted, but wished it would last forever. When they broke apart, a soft moan of protest escaped his lips. Ivan still held him close, though, unwilling or unable to let go of him anytime soon.

"And why," he heard that familiar soothing voice, this time carrying an amused undertone, "do you think that _I _would know what to say?"

Matthew looked up at him, at those beautiful, startling eyes. "It is alright now," he said softly, "I think I finally got the message."

* * *

><p><em>I apologize for making you wait for this chapter! I hope it lives up to your expectations. And no, this is not the end of the story, I'm having way too much fun writing it to let it end here. There may be some mistakes in this chapter, since I wrote it in a rush, but I hope, spellchecking did pick up the worst of them and that you'll forgive me for the rest. Oh, and thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter andor listed this story as one of their favorites. __You make me very happy!_


	10. Tokyo: Éclat

_Attention, everyone, this chapter is rated M – for Matthew's actions and Arthur's thoughts…_

_And many thanks to Essence of Gold, for beta-reading this chapter! You are officially awesome! (since I am currently living in Berlin, I consider myself Prussian enough to say that)_

* * *

><p>Secretly, Ivan had come to the conclusion that he must have died and gone to heaven without noticing it. It did in fact surprise him a little bit, because he had done nothing to deserve this kind of afterlife and had sort of counted on going to the deepest pits of hell should he ever have the misfortune to die. On the other hand, though, it was quite possibly the best thing that had ever happened to him; so he sure as hell wasn't complaining, no pun intended.<p>

After decades, centuries of yearning, he finally loved and was loved in return; and he would never, ever let go of the boy in his arms. His battered heart felt as if it was ready to melt away and the sensation was making him a bit uneasy, because Ivan had good reason not to trust his heart… it wouldn't have been the first time that the capricious organ took figurative to literal.

Other than that, though, he was fine.

No, scratch that. He was as far beyond 'fine' as any living being could possibly get without attaining a higher plane of existence. But then of course, if he was dead, it didn't matter, because heaven definitely was a higher plane of existence.

… And those thoughts were confusing him. As was the fact that Matthew seemed to be perfectly at ease in his current position – namely, in Ivan's lap and wrapped into his arms like a stuffed animal.

_He's not afraid of me. He's enjoying this as much as I am._

It was just too good to be true.

Ivan had been worried about being unable to find the right words, hence all the practicing with Elizaveta, but as it turned out, words weren't even necessary. Matthew understood, accepted, and reciprocated; and he made all that quite plain _without_ words.

_He's wonderful_, Ivan thought in awe. Why waste your breath on stammered sentences when you could employ your lips and tongue in much more creative and exciting ways? This seemed to be Matthew's credo, and Ivan couldn't have agreed more.

Matthew's nimble fingers gently removed the scarf from his neck, something that Ivan would not have allowed anybody else to do, and placed it on the armrest of the sofa they were sitting on. Then his lips returned to trace the way his fingers had outlined, peppering soft, breathy kisses along Ivan's neck. Ivan leant back his head, stretching lasciviously like a large, lazy, and very content cat. He closed his eyes. His fingers dug into Matthew's back. It was _bliss_.

Matthew had reached his collarbone, undoing the first two buttons of Ivan's shirt, his tongue flicking out to…

_Oh God, yes, please… more…_

He couldn't even _think _coherently anymore; not that it mattered much. Thinking was overrated, too.

Ivan let out a low, rumbling moan. He slid his hands down to Matthew's hips, then beneath his shirt, touching incredibly soft naked skin, and he felt a shudder run through the lithe body pressed against his.

Teeth grazed the flesh above his collarbone. Ivan gasped and decided that Matthew's shirt had to go _now._ And maybe he was a bit abrupt, because suddenly several white, pearly buttons parted with the smooth fabric. Ivan paused, afraid that he'd gone too far, but to his surprise, Matthew chuckled. It was a wonderful sound, and something deep inside Ivan snapped.

" Я люблю тебя," he blurted out, "I love you, Matvey…"

* * *

><p>Arthur was by no means a nosy person. In fact, he considered himself to be as polite and discreet as a proper gentleman could be, and it saddened him that he had apparently not been successful in passing on those virtues to the nations he'd raised; even though he appeared to have done a better job with Matthew than with Alfred.<p>

However, there was a point where despite a gentleman's best efforts, politeness had to stand aside in favor of forceful, decisive action. And no one in his or her right mind could argue against the fact that action was needed when their quiet, gentle, innocent son was alone in a room with RUSSIA.

Actually, Arthur felt a lot like waging bloody war on Russia right now. He had been imagining all the horrible things that could possibly be happening to Matthew right now for the past five minutes – ever since a bewildered Kiku had told him about that private little lunch arrangement.

He would have words with Elizaveta. Actually, he would probably lay her over his knee and spank her with his own bare hands, and there would be nothing kinky about that. And Francis! He would bloody murder Francis! Right after he had castrated Ivan and left him to bleed to his gruesome death, of course.

Racing along the corridors and up too many flights of steps, Arthur thought that he would probably murder Kiku, too, for not taking better care of the elevators inside his conference buildings. _Of course_ all three of them had to be down at this highly inconvenient moment.

In his fury and confusion, Arthur actually burst into the wrong room twice, before finally reaching room 402. The first room was empty, its furniture covered in white dust sheets, but the second held a group of four fellow nations who were _not_ happy to see him.

As to why Vash conducted secret negotiations with China, Turkey and Brazil, Arthur had no clue, and right now, he did not particularly care either. However, he did not appreciate being shot at, nor did he appreciate to hastily have a door slammed into his face by a scowling Yao. They would have words about that. All five of them. As soon as he had dealt with his other, more pressing problem.

When he finally reached the right room, Arthur did not bother to knock, and that turned out to be a very great mistake. Apparently, politeness even in the face of crisis _did_ have its uses after all.

Arthur rushed into the room, and in his hastiness almost tripped over the carpet. He caught himself, blinked, and realized that he had walked into his own nightmare.

The good news was – Matthew seemed healthy and unscathed, and Ivan was not making any threatening moves whatsoever… well, unless you considered delivering a blowjob a threatening move. For all Arthur knew, he might still have been trying to bite off vital organs… and he was so not going to follow that train of thought.

Actually, it was quite puzzling (not to mention disturbing) to see Ivan in that particular place and position; if anything, Arthur would have placed him at the receiving end, judging that Ivan would never lower himself to pleasure his lover. He was mistaken, apparently. Of course, knowing Ivan, it was probably all part of some sinister plan to incorporate Canada into Russian territory. From the looks of it, he was succeeding, too.

Yet all these considerations did nothing to change the fact that it was Matthew, _Matthew_, who was the other participant in this vile display. Little Matthew, who was most definitely not supposed to have sex. And especially not with Ivan. And even less right in front of Arthur's eyes, because no parent should ever have to see such things.

"What in the name of Merlin do you think you're doing?" Arthur cried out, unable to contain his horror and fury any longer.

Both Ivan and Matthew froze, though only for a moment. Matthew's face lost all color, until he looked as pale and translucent as a ghost. His eyes were wide with horror. "A-Arthur…?" he whispered incredulously.

Ivan, on the other hand, appeared very calm, and that, Arthur knew, was a bad, bad sign. BAD with a capital B, A, and D. He slowly raised his head and turned. His cheeks were ablaze, but so were his violet eyes, and they were just about the scariest thing Arthur had seen in his entire life.

He had been dead wrong. Ivan had not been planning on doing unspeakable things to Matthew. But he seemed very, very determined to do unspeakable things to _Arthur_ now.

Arthur did the only reasonable thing he could do: he fled the room as fast as he could. Running for his life being chased by a bloodthirsty maniac had not been part of his plan for the day, but it still seemed a much better idea than actually letting that maniac catch him.

Arthur vowed never again to enter an unlocked room without knocking first.

* * *

><p>Maybe Arthur's plan for the day hadn't included being chased through the corridors by a murderously furious Ivan, but Matthew's certainly hadn't included ending up in a linen closet, either. Yet that was where he now huddled; hot tears of frustration and embarrassment streaming down his cheeks.<p>

Life was terribly, terribly unfair.

And fate was an asshole… Arthur, too, come to think about it.

He was in the process of alternately hitting his head and his fists against the walls of the closet, when the door suddenly burst open and a panting, slightly disheveled Cuban stumbled inside.

"Matteo?" He exclaimed.

Matthew stared at him blankly. "Fidel…?"

Of all the strange things to happen on top of everything else…!

Fidel pulled the door shut and flipped the light-switch; then he turned around to face Matthew. Due to the rather limited space; they were very close to each other.

"Oy, Matteo, what happened to you…? You look all white-faced and shaken!" Fidel greeted him.

"Um… I don't want to talk about it…"

"Come on; I promise not to tell anyone! Talking about it will make it better!" Fidel looked at him expectantly.

Matthew didn't really believe that, but he also didn't believe that things could _possibly_ get any worse, and besides, Fidel was his friend. And quite possibly the only person alive who did not think that having an affair with Ivan was anything extraordinary.

"Have you ever had a parent walk in on you…?" He asked.

Fidel shook his head. "No. But I was raised by Antonio, and he is quite understanding when it comes to those things, so I don't think it would have been that bad."

Matthew hadn't considered that before, but guessed that Fidel was probably right.

"Bully for you. I just had _Arthur_ walk in on me and Ivan."

Fidel whistled softly, his dark eyes widening. Shock and amusement mingled in his expression. "Arthur? Ay, Matteo, I don't envy you that experience…!" He shook himself like a wet dog. "What did he say?"

"I don't remember. I was sort of busy dying of embarrassment."

"Huh. By the way – how in God's name did you end up having sex with Ivan during your lunch break? Don't get me wrong, amigo, I do admire your grit, but still… that's not usually your style, is it?"

"I don't know!" Matthew replied, getting exasperated. "It just… well… I guess I lost it. But it's Kiku's fault, too, for telling Arthur where to find me. I mean, he knew that Ivan and I were having a private meeting…"

"Yeah, but I suppose that by _'private meeting' _Kiku understood something along the lines of a classified conversation. He certainly didn't expect you to get physical with the bogeyman. Was it worth the trouble, at least…?"

"Up to the point where Arthur burst in… yes."

"Hm…" Fidel mused, "Well, it seems that you had quite the interesting lunch break there."

'_Interesting' being the new record of understatement._

After a brief, slightly awkward silence, Matthew sighed and asked: "So… why are _you_ here?"

"Me?" Fidel blinked. "Oh… I'm hiding from Vash, you know. He sort of wants to kill me right now."

"What exactly did you do?" Matthew asked suspiciously.

"I asked Mariechen out. Vash didn't seem to like that much."

Matthew stared at him. _That crazy Cuban!_"Why…?" He asked, shaking his head. "Do you have a death wish or something?"

Fidel just shrugged and smiled. "She's cute, isn't she? Nothing wrong with asking a cute girl to go out with you and have some fun…"

"Yes, but this particular cute girl has an overprotective, trigger happy older brother. I think it's a bad idea, Fidel."

"Like getting all hot and steamy with Ivan in a conference building and forgetting to lock the door…?" Fidel asked pointedly.

Matthew's face flushed scarlet.

"Uh… point taken."

* * *

><p><em>Fidel: Cuba. I neglected to mention it earlier. Maybe it's a bit childish, but I just couldn't resist using that name…^^<em>

_Mariechen: Liechtenstein. "Mariechen" is a diminutive of Marie or Maria. I think it fits._


	11. Tokyo and Moscow: Aftermath

"What are you doing, Matteo?" Fidel asked, sounding somewhat bemused.

"Packing my backs," Matthew answered without turning, "isn't that obvious?" He stuffed two neatly folded shirts into his suitcase with a lot more force than necessary. By the time he arrived in Ottawa, his clothes would probably be all crumpled, but he could not have cared less.

"Yes, I can see that," Fidel said, "it just doesn't make sense to me. Since Kiku moved this afternoon's talks to tomorrow morning to give everybody time to calm down, the conference doesn't end until lunchtime tomorrow. You'll have plenty of time to pack your stuff."

"I'm leaving now," Matthew replied flatly. He reached for a black folder and his pristine notepad. Clearly, this conference had been a waste of time. He hadn't even gotten around taking any notes.

"Oye, Matteo…" Fidel began.

Matthew looked up, shooting him an unfriendly look. The Cuban lounged on the bed, munching homemade buñuelos from a brown paper bag.

"You'll get crumbs all over my bed sheets," Matthew remarked.

_I'm starting to sound like Ludwig. Surely, that cannot be a good sign…?_

Fidel shrugged. "If you don't plan to sleep in this bed tonight, it doesn't really matter. I don't get it, though… what are you running from? Embarrassment? A fight with Arthur? Or maybe your feelings for Ivan?"

"I don't want to talk about Ivan." And he didn't want to think about him either, thank you very much. Silently cursing Fidel, Matthew folded a burgundy colored hoodie and placed it on top of the folder.

"Fine. Let's talk about _you_ instead. What exactly is your problem? You can tell me. I'm your _friend_." He stressed the last word; then clicked his tongue depreciatively.

"Has anybody ever told you that you can be a terrible nuisance?" Matthew groaned.

"Oh, people tell me that all the time… if they talk to me at all. You know, your brother is still sort of trying to ignore me. It's rather funny, actually. Anyway, I'm not as bad as Gilbert. I think Ludwig and Roderich are the only people who can stand him at all."

"Roderich?" Matthew asked. "I doubt that. He's just resigned himself to the fact that he is Gilbert's victim of choice."

"Maybe," Fidel nodded, "but getting right back on topic – what's the matter with you?"

"It's… complicated," Matthew replied, pressing down the lid of his suitcase.

Fidel chuckled softly. "That doesn't exactly surprise me, you know. You're a complicated person… nation, whatever."

"Me?" Matthew snorted.

"Absolutely. And adding complicated to complicated won't give you simple, either. I'm talking about Ivan, of course… er – and I'm not supposed to talk about him, right? Okay, then. Back to you, I guess. Why are you so upset? Okay, so maybe you did something stupid, and maybe Arthur saw something he wasn't supposed to see, but it's hardly the end of the world, is it?"

"Fidel" – Matthew finally looked up, a pained expression on his face – "it's _Arthur._"

_Could it get any worse?_

"Yes…? And…?"

Matthew shook his head. "You don't understand. It's just… bad. And to make things worse; he'll probably tell Alfred."

Fidel frowned. "That's hard to imagine. I mean, Arthur isn't exactly a pacifist; but I don't think he wants to start the third world war. Alfred would freak out if he heard anything about you and Ivan…"

_Exactly._

"You see?" Matthew asked, sighing. "It's a mess. I was an idiot to think that somehow, this would work out. I thought that _Ivan _was my biggest problem, but as it turns out, he's the least of them…"

_Because, let's face it – Ivan may be the specter of the international community; but he only poses a danger to my sanity and composure. Arthur and Alfred, on the other hand… well. If Arthur really wanted, he could threaten my existence as a sovereign nation. His head of state is also my head of state, and she likes him a lot more than she likes me. And Alfred… my loudmouthed brother is also my next-door-neighbor and if he comes to the conclusion that he has to send his troops across the border in order to "protect" me, there isn't all that much I could do about that…_

"Well, he's still your _biggest_ problem, I think," Fidel replied, amused and smiling, "but he should be easier to deal with than the rest of them. Especially considering that he's absolutely smitten with you."

_And much good it does me, when my dear family won't even give me a moment to be happy about it before ruining everything…! _Matthew involuntarily balled his fists. "I don't know," Matthew replied moodily. "Right now, I just want to go home."

Fidel's smile, he noticed, had disappeared. Instead, his friend cast him a worried look. "Mind if I tag along…?"

Matthew was tempted to say _'yes'_, but then thought better of it. Having a friend and potential ally around might not be such a bad thing when Arthur and/or Alfred sought him out to rant about the reckless insensibility of entering into any kind of personal relationship with Ivan.

He shrugged.

"Okay, let me go and grab my stuff," Fidel said.

* * *

><p>Roderich was in the process of dressing for dinner that night, when Gilbert stuck his head into the room without knocking first. "Hey, Roddy! Have you seen Matthew anywhere?"<p>

Sighing, Roderich turned around to face the red-eyed menace. "Don't call me that, Gilbert. And no, I haven't seen him since we adjourned the meeting for lunch. Which is unsurprising, considering that he has left for Ottawa."

"Matthew's gone home?" Gilbert looked startled. "Why?"

"Personal reasons," Roderich replied shortly, turning back to the mirror. If he had been hoping to be able to leave it at that, he was, however, sorely mistaken. Gilbert stepped fully inside and closed the door behind himself before walking across the room to stand behind Roderich. _Very closely_ behind Roderich, in fact.

Roderich fumbled with his tie, trying to ignore the fact that there was barely a span of air between his back and Gilbert's chest. He cursed his trembling fingers.

_He should not be able to do that to me anymore… one should think that I had grown accustomed to him in the five centuries that he's been around. _

But apparently not accustomed enough.

"Let me do that. Hold still." Surprisingly gently, Gilbert pushed his hands out of the way and straightened the tie. It took him no more than twenty seconds, but in those twenty seconds, his arms were essentially around Roderich, who stopped breathing.

"There you go," Gilbert said and patted him on the shoulder. "You look nice, by the way."

Roderich's eyes widened slightly and he stared down at his shoes to hide the blush that crept upon his cheeks.

_A compliment…? Did I miss something? Is it 'be on your best behavior' day or did someone spike his drink…?_

"Äh… I should probably tell Kiku that Matthew has left," he mumbled.

"Probably," Gilbert agreed, "but first you should tell _me_ why he left. It's got something to do with Ivan, doesn't it?"

"You knew about that?"

"Duh. Matthew told me a couple of weeks ago. He came to Berlin, all troubled and upset, and we had an enlightening conversation about mistletoe, redemption and sociopaths. West and Feli were there, too."

"And what do you think about the whole matter?" Roderich asked cautiously.

"That Mattie is suffering from a temporary bout of insanity." Gilbert shrugged, but the mirror image of his face looked worried. "Hopefully, it'll wear off before anything bad happens."

"Uh…" Roderich faltered.

In a flash, Gilbert grabbed his shoulders and spun him around until they were face to face. "Roddy…? _Did_ anything bad happen…?"

Roderich didn't reply immediately – he was busy trying to regain his balance.

"I… look; I don't think Matthew was harmed in any way. At least not by Ivan. But Ivan's on the warpath right now, and the fact that Yao and Vash had to keep him from disemboweling Arthur sort of indicates that something has happened. My guess would be that Arthur learnt about Ivan's affection for Matthew a bit prematurely and that he did not take the news well."

"I can't blame him", Gilbert replied, frowning.

"It's understandable, I suppose," Roderich agreed. "Are you joining us for dinner?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Of course you do. It's not compulsory."

"No, but West'll make me feel bad if I don't show up."

Roderich smiled. "Your brother and your keeper, right?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "I'm the elder! _And _way more awesome than Ludwig. It's just not fair."

Roderich shrugged. "Life never is."

* * *

><p>Sleet was slowly transforming into snow as dusk threw its grey coat over the city of Moscow. A pale, slender young woman stepped into the small coffee shop, her shimmering blond hair slightly wet. She moved through the room with long, purposeful strides and came to a halt in front of a table that was pushed against the far wall.<p>

"Katyusha," she said without a greeting, "do you know where our brother is?"

Breathing a soft sigh, Katyusha looked up from the book she had been reading.

"I have been searching the entire city for him," Natalia continued. Her soprano voice sounded whiny like that of a small child, but it also held an edge of anxiety.

"I know," Katyusha replied softly, "I have been waiting for him to return, too. But he did not come."

"Where is he?" Natalia asked. "Something happened in Tokyo, didn't it?"

Her sister nodded. "Yes, but I don't know any details. Ivan was upset, though. There was an… argument."

"He got into a fight," Natalia stated flatly.

"Yes."

"How bad?"

Katyusha shook her head. "I don't know. But I might have an idea as to where he went."

"Yes…?"

"Where he always goes when he is upset: St. Petersburg."

"I will go and visit him." Natalia turned around and started to walk away.

"Wait!" Katyusha called, "I'll go with you."

* * *

><p><em>57 reviews! You people are AWESOME! I love reading your comments and I'm really glad you seem to enjoy this story as much as I do. This chapter was a bit anticlimactic compared to the last one, but I felt that it was necessary. There'lll be more of Ivan and Mattie in the next one ;)<em>


	12. St Petersburg and Ottawa: Unity

_Beware of fluff..._

* * *

><p>The large house was quiet but for the rhythmic sound Ivan's fists made as they collided with the punching bag and Natalia's shrill voice as she <em>'advised' <em>him about his technique. Neither of those was music to Katyusha's ears.

"Those punches are getting sloppier by the minute," Natalia noted, "get your mind back on track, brother! You can't just space out like that during a fight!"

"I don't want to fight," Ivan replied, panting and continuing his assault on the punching back, "I am doing this to _avoid_ a fight. My clever sister told me that it was better to vent my frustration on an inanimate object. I think she called it a _preemptive strike_ against my dark side. Very American vocabulary, by the way. I do not approve of that."

"I would never use such a term!" Natalia objected.

"I wasn't talking about you. You are my pretty sister. Katyusha over there is my clever sister."

Both women looked at him in surprise. Their relationship with their brother was not always easy; and Ivan rarely handed out compliments like that. Something was definitely off; even Natalia in her flustered, blushing excitement could see that.

"You are not fooling me", she declared, "You never say nice things to me unless you want something, Wanja… and I think what you want right now is to divert my attention from the fact that you have been acting out of character for over a week now. One might even say _out of your mind_."

Katyusha silently applauded her sister for coming to that conclusion. Maybe she had underestimated Natalia…

"She is right, you know", she gently told her brother, "You try so hard to hide your true feelings from us, Wanja, but without success. We both know you well and it is obvious that you are very unhappy. I think even your anger might be a mask you use to cover your misery. Misery is weakness to you, right? You are ashamed of feeling this way."

"You are too clever for your own good, Katyusha," Ivan growled.

"Maybe." Katyusha shrugged. "But you, Wanja, are not acting very clever right now. I think it's time for you to admit defeat."

"Russia, defeated by a punching bag? Never!" Ivan replied with mock horror, giving the bag a final hard smack.

"That is not what I meant and you know it. Love is like war. You've lost wars before. You know what it feels like."

"Bad."

"And how do you feel right now?"

"… bad."

"Exactly."

"Well he can't very well go ahead and declare war on the entire world, can he?" Natalia cut in sarcastically. "Not that most of the others wouldn't deserve it, but one has to stay reasonable. He can't even declare war on Arthur alone without the other Europeans and that loathsome American rushing in to _'help'_. The world is so interconnected these days that one is denied the simple pleasures of a good old-fashioned war. It's a real pity."

"That's a surprisingly reasonable observation coming from you, Natalia," Katyusha noted, "but I think you missed my point. I did not suggest that Ivan should go to war."

"I'd like to, though," Ivan said mournfully, "a war would be infinitely more pleasurable than hitting _inanimate objects_."

"You should seriously reconsider your definition of appropriate leisure activities," Katyusha scolded him. "Wars are much too costly to be taken lightly. They are bad for your economy, for your people, for the state of international relations."

"I don't really care about international relations, Katyusha. Everybody hates me, anyway."

"That's not true!" Natalia protested. "I don't hate you! I love you. You are my favorite person in the world."

Neither Ivan nor Katyusha seemed particularly impressed by this ardent declaration of affection, though. Ivan just ignored it out of habit – after all, Natalia declared her undying love for him about twice a week. Katyusha, on the other hand, waved it away with a negligent gesture. "Stop whining," she told her brother quite firmly, "it doesn't suit you and makes you look like a big baby. You've been hiding and sulking for more than a week now, and I feel that's quite enough. Did you even go to meet your new president?"

"What for?" Ivan shrugged. "The new president is actually the old one and I already know him fairly well. And Putin knows how things work. He doesn't need or want me to look over his shoulder and I'm not particularly keen on doing it either. As long as he doesn't bother me, we get along quite well _without_ talking to each other."

"And what about Syria? You _do _know that there's a major crisis down there, don't you?"

"So…? Let Lavrov deal with it. That's what we have a foreign minister for, isn't it?"

"Wanja, you are beginning to make me cross," Katyusha said, frowning. "You need to take care of this problem _now. _It's impeding your ability to run your country."

Ivan took off his gloves and threw them to the ground, clearly frustrated. "And what do you suggest I do…?"

Katyusha gave him a long look. "Well, that should be obviously. You need to go to Ottawa."

"What?"

"Wanja…", his sister said, her voice a bit more gentle, "You are miserable. And the only person who can get you out of your misery is currently staying in Ottawa."

"But I… I can't just go there…" he faltered.

"Oh? Why not?"

"Because…" Ivan shrugged helplessly.

"You're an idiot, brother," Natalia scoffed, "I really don't get what you see in this boy; but for once, Katyusha is right. You need to deal with this."

"_You _want me to get together with Matthew?" Ivan sounded baffled.

Natalia smiled. It looked a little pained, but it was nonetheless surprising. She reached up to brush her fingers across Ivan's cheek, but pulled them back when he flinched. "I know that you will always return to me. This infatuation of yours will quickly wear off and then you will get bored of the boy. I can afford to be generous, because I love you and I know that no one will ever manage to take you away from me."

Katyusha rolled her eyes, but made sure that her sister would not see it.

_She truly is mad; and she cannot see that this time, everything is different. But at least she is not trying to make things difficult for our brother._

"Go to Ottawa, Wanja," she said wearily. "And good luck. You may need it."

* * *

><p>Matthew lay awake listening to the howling of the snowstorm outside. It had descended upon Ottawa late that afternoon and was now amusing itself by rattling with the shutters and piping down the chimney.<p>

Staring at the wood-paneled ceiling, Matthew remembered many similar stormy nights. As a child he had never been afraid of storms… but Alfred had been, and maybe still was. Back in those days, Alfred had frequently crawled into bed with him, hiding beneath the covers. For a self-proclaimed hero, Alfred was surprisingly easy to frighten.

A small smile grazed his lips as he thought of his silly brother, but it disappeared quickly when his thoughts returned to the present.

Alfred had called him 17 times over the course of the past week, left five messages ranging from worried to outraged, and – according to Matthew's puzzled and somewhat amused ambassador in Washington – had summoned the unsuspecting Russian ambassador for an 'interview' that had culminated in a shouting match. During the course of said interview, the poor Russian diplomat had been declared _persona non grata_. According to his Canadian colleague, he was now on the way back to Moscow.

Matthew had briefly considered sending a written apology. When you got right down to it, he was responsible for bringing the wrath of the very impersonation of America down upon the innocent diplomat. However, his own ambassador had convinced him that such a note would have seemed oddly out of place. _Nations_ did not apologize, the ambassador had insisted. A nation's government might consider an apology as a last resort, and only if there was no other, more dignified way to get out of the affair, but a nation _did not apologize_.

Matthew shrugged. So no letter to the Russian ex-ambassador. Oh well. He would just have to ask Ivan to convey the expression of his deepest sympathy, or whatever it was you said in such cases.

_Damn._

Asking Ivan to do anything for him? That was _so _not going to happen. At least not anytime soon. Maybe Matthew was a bit naïve sometimes, but he knew a lost cause when he saw one.

He had not received the slightest acknowledgement of his existence from Ivan since he had left Tokyo; and much less spoken to him. It seemed that Ivan had chosen to conveniently forget about the embarrassing incident and the other person involved. And considering that Matthew was very easy to ignore, it probably didn't even cost him too much of an effort.

_I guess I should be glad it went over that smoothly. It could have ended a lot worse._

But he didn't feel glad. He felt horrible.

In the heat of the moment he had not realized how much Ivan's words, those three short words, meant to him. Now he knew; and he desperately wanted to hear them again. One simple sentence, but oh-so powerful.

Not to mention the fact that his unruly mind supplied him with a steady stream of fantasies about what might have transpired had Arthur _not_ interrupted them. Highly unhelpful, especially since Matthew was already embarrassed enough about his attraction to Ivan without admitting that he was physically yearning for the Russian. Maybe Gilbert was right – Ivan came with dangerous side-effects. One of them being R-rated thoughts that induced sudden trips to the bathroom or other private locations.

_My life sucks_, Matthew decided. Since it was obvious that he wasn't going to fall asleep anytime soon, he decided to go downstairs and have a cup of tea. He would have gone for a walk, but a look out of the window quickly convinced him that it was a much better idea to stay inside. The snowstorm didn't look as if it was planning on going away anytime soon.

Sighing, Matthew slipped on a pair of woolen socks and made his way downstairs. He was slowly descending from second to first floor, when an unexpected sound startled him.

It wasn't that easy to tell, what with all the howling and wheezing of the snowstorm, but noise just than had sounded like… a knock. Somebody was knocking on his door…? At half past two in the morning? Not very likely…

But then, maybe one of his people had lost his or her way in the storm? Contrary to popular belief, not all Canadians were able to survive in the wilderness for extended periods of time. In fact, Matthew knew quite a few who were unable to find their way around their capital even with the help of a map.

It was his duty to open the door and save the poor soul from hypothermia.

Wearily, he moved towards the door, putting on as friendly and dignified an expression as he could manage (it _was_ half past two in the morning, after all, and he was wearing pajamas). The door swung open.

Matthew stared, and instead of saving some a desperate Canadian citizen from a cold and gruesome death, he froze himself.

Because the person on his doorstep was most definitely not Canadian.

One might have gone as far as to say that he wasn't even entirely human.

"Maple, Ivan, what are you doing here?"

Um no, that had not come out the way he'd intended it to. And from the look on Ivan's face he was about to turn on his heel and march off in order to drown the rest of the night in substantial amounts of vodka.

_So much for Canadian hospitality. I'm such an idiot,_ Matthew silently cursed himself.

"I… I'm just – er – surprised to see you." Which was the truth, and nothing but the truth; but not very helpful, either.

"Are you," Ivan said, his deep voice hoarse and rather cool.

Matthew's face flushed crimson.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, "I didn't mean to…"

"Matvey." The sudden urgency in Ivan's voice caused him to look up again. Two pairs of purple eyes met. Matthew's were filled with confusion and fear, Ivan's now lit up with relief and amusement. "You should stop talking before you tie your tongue into a bow."

The fact that Matthew was one of the few people who could actually attest to the fact that Ivan _did_ possess a sense of humor did not mean he understood it.

"I… you… but…!"

Kissing someone was a very nice way of telling them to shut up, and Matthew silently thanked Ivan for putting him out of his misery. He vowed to actually voice his gratitude sometime later. For now, he was busy.

There wasn't much passion or technique to this kiss; it was flooded with relief as both of them realized that their fears had been unfounded.

His fingers buried into the furry softness of Ivan's coat, Matthew realized that it was actually _quite cold_ outside. Ivan's lips felt warm, but the rest of him – as far as Matthew could tell – was pretty cold as well, and when they broke apart he saw snowflakes glistening on the pale blond hair.

"Come inside," he urged, slipping out of the embrace to hold the door open. Ivan actually took the time to take off his snow-covered boots, a gesture that Matthew found to be oddly endearing. Neither his brother nor Gilbert or Fidel would have bothered to do so.

"How did you get here in the middle of a snowstorm?"

"Uh… let's just say my pilot hates me right now," Ivan replied with a sheepish smile.

"You look like Jack Frost," Matthew noted and held out a hand to take Ivan's coat.

"We're probably related in some way or other," Ivan said drily. "Did Cuba return south?" He looked around the quiet living room.

Matthew shook his head. "No, but Fidel sleeps like a log. You could probably drop a bomb on his head and he wouldn't notice."

"I would put that to the test, but your brother does seem to get upset whenever I so much as mention the words _'Cuba'_ and _'bomb'_ in the same sentence."

"You traumatized him back in 1962," Matthew replied, grinning.

Ivan nodded.

Silence fell between them, until Matthew felt obliged to say something.

"Listen I… I feel sorry for running away."

Ivan smiled and reached out to touch his cheek.

"Do you forgive me?" Matthew whispered.

"Yes."

"Will you forgive Arthur?"

"Not anytime soon."

Matthew nodded. _Fair enough. I don't think I'll forgive Arthur anytime soon, either._

He reached up to take the hand that lay cold against his cheek. "Come along. You're wet and half-frozen and I don't want you to catch a cold."

"I've seen worse storms," Ivan replied shrugging, "but it's nice that you care."

"Well… I have to confess that part of it is self-interest…"

"Oh?" A slow grin spread across Ivan's face.

Matthew blushed and resolutely drew him towards the stairs.

* * *

><p>Matthew insisted on taking a number of cold-preventing measures; but since those led to both of them sitting sparsely clad on his bed, soft blankets draped around them, Ivan voiced no objections. He let Matthew fuss about him and towel-dry his wet hair, relishing the feeling of being loved and cared for. When he was done, Ivan's hair looked worse than Alfred's, but he was well beyond such mundane concerns.<p>

With Matthew seated between his legs joining him in a cup of tea, the world could have come to an end for all Ivan cared.

"Alfred is very unhappy with you," Matthew told him.

"It's been a week; and I didn't even really hurt him." _Stupid American. _

"It's not that. I'm afraid, Arthur told him."

Ivan frowned. "Told him _what?_ Oh… well… I suppose that would explain a few things. Like the message I received from my ambassador in Washington. Or rather, my _former_ ambassador in Washington."

"I'm sorry," Matthew muttered.

"It's not your fault," Ivan said, shaking his head.

"But I feel bad about it. The poor man had nothing to do with any of this."

Ivan felt a hot surge of tenderness towards this wonderfully complex, unspoiled boy in his arms, who could get upset about an insignificant thing like that. He inclined his head and placed a soft kiss on Matthew's neck, right below his ear. "He'll live. Don't worry. I'll find another job for him… someplace warm and with palm trees and beaches; he'll appreciate that. Now, what shall we do about Alfred…?"

"I don't know," Matthew replied, sounding dejected. "He won't just stop to rant and rave, I suppose. And I'm tired of it all… of everybody telling me what I should and should not do. He has no right to order me around, and neither does Arthur. But I would like to avoid a war, if possible."

"I have what I want now. I see no reason to go to war but to protect it," Ivan stated. "As long as Alfred doesn't make any threatening moves towards you, I'm fine with the status quo."

"One could argue that you've already breached the status quo."

"It's not as if I was planning on occupying and seizing Canada or anything like that," Ivan argued.

"No…?" There was something suggestive to the way he said it.

"I'm not planning on occupying and seizing _Canada_; but as for conquering _Matthew_…" Ivan let the sentence trail off.

Matthew squirmed in his lap as he put away the teacup. It was… not an unpleasant feeling. He leant back, his upper body now flush with Ivan's. "I proclaim myself conquered," he declared, his voice soft and lilting, teasing.

"That would take a lot of fun out of it," Ivan replied, tightening his grip around Matthew's waist. "If you surrender without a fight, I will be very disappointed; and I don't handle disappointment well."

"That's because you, like all super-powers, are like a spoilt child. Alfred's the same, and so is Yao," Matthew noted, but his tone was affectionate. "But if you absolutely insist on it, I can certainly make life difficult for you. Maybe I should get a few pointers from Ludwig, since he's the current record holder in that department."

"Ludwig?" Ivan asked puzzled.

"Feliciano has been breathing down his neck for _decades_ without ever taking that last bastion of resistance," Matthew explained.

Ivan grinned at that, admiring the imagery. "It keeps both of them from getting bored, I suppose."

"Do you think you would get bored with me?" Matthew asked anxiously.

_With the only living being who is able and willing to look past my history and reputation and tempt his luck…? Certainly not. _"No," he stated firmly.

"Good. I guess that means I can kiss you without risking to lose your interest…" He fidgeted until Ivan loosened his grip and allowed him to turn around – it was a bit awkward, given their current position. "Can we postpone the more dramatic acts of defiance until tomorrow?" Matthew asked. "Right now, I'm just too glad to actually have you here to put up much of a fight. I could probably pretend to be cool and impassive, but it would be hypocritical and not very convincing." He wrapped an arm around Ivan's shoulders and brought their faces very close to each other. Ivan could feel warm breath tingling on his skin. "At the risk of disappointing you," Matthew whispered, "right now, all I want is to be close to you. To kiss you, hold you and fall asleep in your arms."

But contrary to his earlier statement, Ivan didn't feel disappointed at all. Elation flooded his body, giddy happiness mingling with arousal. He would have to keep the latter simmering for the time being, but with it came an interesting realization: maybe love was the best aphrodisiac of all.

"That _does_ sound nice," he agreed, before bringing their lips together for a long, gentle kiss. Matthew was warm, responsive, and cuddly; and Ivan sensed no trace of fear or apprehension in his actions.

_He trusts me_, he realized with awe. _He trusts me to care for him and not to hurt him._

* * *

><p><em>To declare somebody 'persona non grata' is not a very nice thing to do. It literally means that you don't want that person in your country (anymore). Usually, a state will declare a foreign diplomat 'persona non grata' if the person in question has done something utterly unacceptable (committed a serious crime, publicly called the head of government of the receiving state a tyrant and a murderer and so on) or if the receiving state finds itself at odds with the home country of the diplomat in question and feels that a public demonstration of displeasure is in order. <em>


	13. Ottawa: A Dream Come True

_Content warning: This chapter is quite explicit. Don't like, don't read._

* * *

><p>The snowstorm had long since subsided and cool, white winter light was peeking in through the gap between the curtains when Ivan woke up. He blinked a couple of times, trying to rid himself of the faint feeling of disorientation. Then a smile spread across his face.<p>

Oh, right. Ottawa. He was in Ottawa. More precisely, he was in Matthew's bed.

Well… what a perfect way to start the day!

Unable to wipe that stupidly happy smile off his face – it was a good thing nobody could see him – he turned to look for his little Canadian.

Yes, _his. _Because finally, after so many years of hopeless yearning, his patience had paid off. His success was triumphant. He wanted to scream out his happiness for all the nations to hear and he wanted to slap Alfred in the face with it.

A low moan interrupted his victorious gloating. Ivan turned his head. Matthew lay on his side, his knees slightly bent, his blond hair tousled adorably. He moved and twitched lightly in his sleep, murmuring softly – he was dreaming.

Ivan's heart felt about ready to burst with tenderness and affection, and he half-consciously put a hand on his chest… just in case. A bloody mess in Matthew's bed was most certainly not an appropriate way to start the day. His other hand reached out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from Matthew's face.

Matthew sighed and shifted closer, but he did not wake up. His lips moved, forming a word, two syllables, and Ivan recognized his name.

"Ivan…" Matthew said more clearly, "please…"

And for a terrifying moment Ivan thought that he was having a nightmare.

_No, Matvey, no! You must know that I would never hurt you! You can't be having nightmares about me, no, not you…_

His heart burned with anxiety as he watched out for further signs of distress. Matthew shifted slightly, and his left hand twitched as if following a movement he made in his dream. Was he defending himself? Was he pushing Ivan away? Ivan hardly dared to move or even breathe.

_I don't want you to be afraid. Please… everybody else fears me, but not you, never…_

Matthew murmured something he did not catch, flung out his arms as if to catch somebody and pull them closer; then his hips bucked.

Oh. _Oh._ Ivan's eyes grew very wide as realization hit him. _So maybe not a nightmare, da…?_

His expression of relief turned into a smirk. Well now, if that wasn't interesting… not to mention hot as hell. Matthew was dreaming about him, and not in a bad way. He was having one of _those_ dreams. Ivan felt a hot surge of pleasure at the thought that raced through his body and right to his nether regions. And much as he would have enjoyed watching Matthew a little while longer, he decided that it was about time to take a more active role in this fantasy.

He reached out and wrapped an arm around his little Canadian, gently pulling him a bit closer. The midnight blue shirt of Matthew's pajamas had slid up to expose a generous portion of pale skin. Ivan let his fingers run across it, first stroking up along Matthew's spine, then travelling towards his lower abdomen. Matthew's breath caught, but he was not yet fully awake.

_I shall make waking up very nice for you, _Ivan silently promised.

He gently turned Matthew until he came to lie on his back, then moved till he was above him, his leg brushing against Matthew's aroused member. Ivan felt himself harden. Matthew gasped and pressed closer.

Looking up, Ivan found violet eyes meeting his.

"Oh. You're awake."

Matthew chuckled. "Assaulting me in my sleep, Ivan?" His quiet voice sounded rough.

"I believe this would be the appropriate time for me to say something along the lines of _'I will make your dreams come true'_," Ivan replied teasingly. He shifted his weight slightly and slid a hand into Matthew's pajama pants. "You're not wearing underwear."

"What an astute observation," Matthew panted as Ivan's long fingers moved to caress his most sensitive spots. "Might I point out that you're completely naked? Not that I'd mind…" He looked up, making a show of trailing his gaze across Ivan's broad, naked chest. The tip of his tongue flicked out to wet his lips. Ivan let the breath he had held back for too long out in a low hiss.

"I'm not complaining," he whispered as he bent to kiss Matthew's exposed neck. "Although I think it's time you got naked, too.

Matthew gave a low, appreciative sound and started to struggle out of his shirt. Ivan, being a gentleman, of course helped him to get rid of both his shirt and his pants.

"While you're sitting," Matthew said between breaths, "bedside table, Ivan."

"Huh?" Ivan looked down at him questioningly, admiring the view for a moment. Matthew naked and aroused on his bed was quite a sight to behold.

Matthew rolled his eyes at him. "Lube, condoms. Just ignore the plush handcuffs at the back of the drawer, they were a birthday gift from Gilbert three years ago; he was trying to be funny and failed miserably."

Ivan's chin dropped. "You…" He swallowed. "Oh. That… came a bit unexpected."

"Well, I was not raised by Francis for nothing," Matthew said smugly and gently nudged him with his naked foot. "Go ahead."

And that was invitation enough. Ivan felt his fingers tremble slightly as he reached for the drawer. He took a deep breath to steady himself. When he turned, he found Matthew looking up at him expectantly, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Did I catch you by surprise?"

"You are full of surprises, Matvey," Ivan replied, his voice husky. He was pleased to see a shiver run through Matthew's body at those words. "Are you sure about this…?" He whispered, locking gazes.

"Yes." The word was a soft sigh.

"Good," Ivan purred. He had gotten the trembling under control and now moved very fast.

_I want you. You have no idea how much I want you, and how long I've waited for this._

Matthew moved in perfect synchrony with him as Ivan gently aligned their bodies and gasped when slick fingers stroke down between his buttocks and pushed into him. Ivan moved gently, deliberately holding back. He was not going to hurt Matthew. Never. Not even when the anticipation became almost too much to bear.

"Become one with me, da?" He whispered playfully, his lips close to Matthew's ear.

"That is so not funny," Matthew replied, giggling nevertheless. The giggles subsided in a low moan as Ivan slowly eased into him. Ivan paused, checking to see if everything was alright, but from the lust-glazed look in Matthew's eyes, it was a lot more than that. All his fears had been unfounded.

Ivan moved on, found his rhythm, accelerated it, but his eyes never left Matthew's face. Maybe that was the best part. Watching him come undone, fearless, trusting and completely at ease, watching all those intense sensations express themselves in his eyes and knowing that they were felt because of him, for him.

A fierce shudder ran through Matthew's body as he came, and Ivan gasped and was pulled over the edge. Maybe it wasn't perfect, but it was the closest he'd ever gotten and… no, damn it.

It _was _perfect.

* * *

><p>Fidel looked up from his laptop when he heard their steps on the stairs.<p>

"Good morning," he said cheerfully, "that nasty storm's finally gone. I was afraid we'd get snowed in. I have never been snowed in, I think. Must be frightful."

"It has its moments," Ivan said; just as Matthew called out a cheerful "Good morning!"

"Oh, Ivan. It's good to see you," Fidel said. "Matteo was completely miserable without you."

Ivan smiled and turned to look at Matthew, who blushed slightly. "I… oh, well, I guess I really was," he admitted sheepishly.

"Does that mean you'll eat now?" Fidel asked, a note of disapproval in his voice. "I couldn't get him to eat anything for the past few days."

"Is that so…?" Ivan asked. He gazed down at Matthew. "Matvey…?"

"Yes…?" Matthew looked up.

"You will eat. Now."

"I'm actually not that…"

"Matvey…", Ivan repeated more slowly, and in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

"Okay, " Matthew gave in, "I suppose I could make pancakes for us."

"That sounds like a very good idea," Ivan approved, nudging him towards the kitchen. Matthew smiled and took off.

Fidel looked at Ivan, his eyebrows raised. "Wow. I've never gotten him to agree to anything that fast."

A slow, mirthful smile spread across Ivan's face. "Maybe I have magic powers…?" He suggested.

"Don't tell Arthur," Fidel joked. "Now, I trust that the two of you made up?"

"Among other things, yes."

"Ah… there's no need to go into detail, Ivan. There are some things I really don't need to know about my friends."

Ivan grinned. "Fair enough. I'm glad you approve, though. You seem to be one of the very few who do."

"Why should I not approve?" Fidel shrugged. "Love is a good thing, and there should always be more of it. Boy meets girl, they fall for each other, flowers and hearts, happiness. It's that simple. Only in your case that would be 'boy meets specter of the Western World, bombs and fireworks, uncertain ending.' But don't worry; I'm on your side. So are Roderich and Ludwig, I believe. Watch out for Gilbert, though, he's insanely jealous. Or insane and jealous, depends on your point of view, I guess."

"Thanks for the advice. Has there been any word from Alfred or Arthur?"

Fidel shook his head. "No, and that worries me. I'm not surprised that Arthur's decided to hold back; but Alfred isn't exactly the calm, calculating type. Know what I mean?"

Ivan nodded, frowning. "I wonder what he's up to. Nothing good, I suppose."

"Better be on the watch," Fidel agreed. "He hates you."

"The feeling is mutual. But I won't let him ruin this."

"That's the spirit," Fidel said, getting up and patting his shoulder. "I smell pancakes. Let's go to the kitchen and make sure Matteo actually eats some of them."

* * *

><p><em>Well...? I have t admit, I was a bit nervous about this one. Do you like it?<em>


	14. Washington: Family Squabbles

_Hi everyone; I'm very, very sorry I made you wait so long for this chapter. I was on vacation in Poland, and it was terrible. Not the least bit relaxing, and the weather was quite nasty, too. I should have stayed at home and written this earlier..._  
><em>Anyway, here's a chapter for fans of Alfred and Arthur. I hope the British among you will forgive me for not paying much attention to the sublime differences between British and American English - to me as a foreigner, it's all one language and I'm having difficulties with the regional varieties.<em> 

* * *

><p>"Out of all the more appealing possible sites to choose from, why did you let them pick this one for establishing your capital?" Arthur asked moodily, brushing snow off his coat. "It has a dreadful climate. Subtropical heat and humidity that breeds insects and disease in summer, but still cold enough in the winter for snowstorms and the occasional blizzard."<p>

"And I have heard that very lecture every time you came to visit me here," Alfred replied with a smile. He took Arthur's wet coat and closed the door. "But this is the twenty-first century! We have air conditioning and central heating now. And if you ask me nicely, I might even make you a cup of tea."

"As if you knew how to do that," Arthur huffed, following Alfred into the living room. "I had better do it myself; I don't trust you with anything even remotely related to food preparation."

"The feeling is mutual," Alfred assured him amiably, "but luckily for you, I'm not Francis; and I still love you, despite your cooking."

"Francis and I had somewhat more serious differences than our incompatible ideas on cooking," Arthur replied, frowning. He did not like to be reminded of Francis; and much less of his former relationship with the Frenchman. An instant later, though, his expression softened slightly. "That was a nice thing to say, nevertheless," he noted.

Alfred beamed at him; his expressive face all genuine good humor and delight. "In that case, do I get a hug and a proper greeting? Or do you insist on being bad-tempered all evening?"

"I am not bad-tempered," Arthur objected, his bushy brows furrowing once again as Alfred stepped closer and into his personal space.

"No?" The American asked, unable to keep the smile of his face. "You're moodier than London weather, Iggy."

"Don't call me that." The frown deepened.

"Hush," Alfred replied, and then his lips met Arthur's. Contrary to his words and countenance, he neither struggled nor resisted. Quite the opposite, actually. Alfred's smile broadened to a grin as he snug an arm around Arthur's waist.

"You're such a hypocrite, Iggy."

"Excuse me?" Arthur blustered, but whatever he had wanted to say next was stifled by Alfred's lips and tongue. Arthur hated to admit it, but Alfred had his ways of shutting him up and they were usually quite successful. Shrugging inwardly he decided that this was a battle he would let his boisterous American hero win. It seemed a small price to pay for keeping the peace. Arthur was well aware of the fact that he was never this lenient with anybody other than Alfred, but he also knew that he was utterly incapable of putting up any serious resistance.

_Let them say that this relationship is wrong_, he thought, _it is what it is. I cannot change my feelings for him anymore than he can change his. _

And they were conflicting feelings. Arthur was always in conflict with himself and anybody else when his feelings for Alfred were concerned. There had never been a cloudless day in their relationship. They were partners, rivals, brothers, opponents, lovers, enemies, allies. Alfred was his golden boy, his son, his lover, his nemesis, his coffin nail. They would always be at odds with each other, just as they would always be at each other's side in times of trouble.

"So, does this qualify as a _'proper greeting'_?" Arthur asked slightly out of breath some five minutes later. By that time, his white dress shirt was unbuttoned and Alfred's hands were roaming his back, their movements resolute, almost possessive.

Alfred paused, his hands resting against the small of Arthur's back, but still holding him close.

"I'm not sure," he replied in a low, teasing tone of voice. "You were behaving quite coldly towards me earlier and I _am _a bit upset about that."

"Are you now," Arthur replied in the same fashion, "and I suppose you would like some tangible proof to the contrary…?"

"Mhm, yes." Alfred's hands resumed their movements, slower this time, but unremittingly. "So…? What do you think?"

"That you are a spoilt child," Arthur chided. Alfred's touches sent a pleasant shudder down his spine and they both knew quite well where this was leading.

Alfred chuckled. "Indulge me, please", he whispered, his lips very close to Arthur's ear. He inclined his head slightly and placed a feathery soft kiss on Arthur's neck.

Arthur smiled.

* * *

><p>"International relations are about to get interesting again," Arthur said later, thoughtfully toying with a stray strand of Alfred's blond hair. "There's trouble brewing east and west and up north, and I don't like it."<p>

"You want to talk business in bed?" Alfred groaned. "Oh, please…" He was curled up next to Arthur, his head resting on his lover's chest.

"I would have been perfectly content to talk business in your living room, but since we invariably appear to end up in bed…" He let the sentence trail off.

"Do I have to move?" Alfred asked languidly.

Arthur looked down at him fondly. "Are you comfortable?"

"Yes." Alfred snuggled even closer, as if to emphasize his statement.

"Then I suppose you don't have to. But don't fall asleep; this is serious. I am worried about your brother."

"About Mattie? Yeah, so am I. He is behaving very strangely. He won't even talk to me, or respond to any of my messages, can you imagine that?" Alfred sounded quite outraged.

"He has been ignoring me, too. I don't really blame him for that, though. After our last meeting, I don't think that we could look each other in the face if we met."

"That bad, huh?"

"He's my son. I raised him… well, Francis had a part in that, too, I suppose, but still… there are things that I do not want to know about the lives of my children; and to see one of them in _that_ situation…" He shuddered.

Suddenly, Alfred raised his head and sat up. "Wait a minute," he said, his voice sounding suspicious, maybe even alarmed, "is _that_ why you never look at me when we're having sex? You always close your eyes. You… you're _ashamed_ of it, aren't you? Ashamed of me, because you raised me, too." The look on his face was one of hurt and dejection.

Arthur frowned. "Oh, that is just ridiculous!" He blurted out. "Alfred, you know that…"

But Alfred turned away briskly and hid his face in the pillows.

"Alfred," Arthur insisted, now feeling quite exasperated. "Don't be silly. It's not like that."

"I don't believe you," Alfred replied. His voice was muffled by the pillow and there was a choked quality to it, as if he was fighting back tears of disappointment.

Arthur sighed. _And to think that they call Matthew the shy, sensitive one of those two…!  
><em>He rolled around and put an arm around Alfred, whose back was still turned towards him, pulling him close. "I love you, and I am not ashamed of anything we did, no matter what anyone says," he stated firmly.

"Really?" Alfred asked dubiously, slightly raising his head.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes. Really. Now, can we go back to being reasonable adults, please?"

Alfred turned around to face him. "I suppose so," he muttered, his eyes anxiously searching Arthur's face for traces of insecurity.

_For a great hero, you are surprisingly insecure sometimes,_ Arthur thought ironically. He moved closer and placed a soft kiss on Alfred's front. "If you want to worry about relationships, please worry about Matthew's relationship with Ivan and not the one between you and me. The former is far more worrisome."

"I want to tear out Ivan's bowels and wrap them around his neck to strangle him," Alfred stated fiercely.

"Understandable, but inadvisable. He tried to do the same to me after I had burst in on his little rendezvous with Matthew; and I can tell you, he is still quite capable of wreaking havoc. The years have _not_ tamed him as much as we thought. And I am afraid that Matthew is in grave danger."

"We have to stop him! Ivan, I mean. We can't let anything happen to Mattie!"

"I agree, but it's not that simple. With the way things are at the moment, any violent interference could cause the third world war."

"But it's Ivan!" Alfred protested. "He's creepy, and evil and dangerous and he'll hurt Mattie. He probably wants to ravish him, and abduct him and carry him off to Siberia; we need to protect him!"

"I'm not so sure about the abduction part, but I agree on the rest," Arthur said. "All I'm saying is that we need to proceed carefully. Especially considering that Ivan appears to have duped a considerable part of the international community. They believe that his motivations are sincere and that he means no harm."

"How can they be that stupid? Who is it?" Alfred asked hotly.

"Well, Francis for one, but that doesn't surprise me much. I doubt the frog would raise a finger, even if Ivan told him plainly that he means ill. I never had much faith in Elizaveta, either – her tastes and private entertainments are very questionable, to say the least. Ludwig though, is another matter altogether."

"_Ludwig_ believes that Ivan intends no harm? Has he gone mad or something? He of all people should know better!"

Arthur nodded. "I was very surprised when Gilbert told me about it. Feliciano is on Ludwig's side, obviously, and since Roderich's neutrality is questionable at best, that makes for five nations who support Ivan in this. I think it's safe to add Cuba to that list, since he has been staying with Matthew and did not leave him when Ivan arrived in Ottawa the day before yesterday."

"Ivan is in Ottawa?" Alfred exclaimed, sitting up suddenly. "Then what are we waiting for? We need to go and save Mattie!"

"Alfred, calm down." Arthur put his hands on Alfred's shoulders, willing to physically detain the excited American. "I learned of it just this morning. I wanted to meet Ivan and talk to him; it seemed the only reasonable thing to do. But I could not reach or find him, so I turned to his sisters, and Natalya was obliging enough to tell me that he had gone to Ottawa. She does not seem to approve, but I'm not sure if that makes her an ally. She's almost as dangerous as her brother, and quite as insane."

"She's a psychotic bitch," Alfred clarified, "and I wouldn't wish her on anybody but Ivan. So what did she tell you?"

Arthur shrugged. "Not much. Only that Ivan had gone to Ottawa. I checked with some of my people and set them on his trail, and it turns out that he arrived on Saturday, late at night. His plane and crew are still there, so I think it's safe to assume that he hasn't left. On the other hand, I placed a call with Matthew's secretary today and she told me that he has come to his office to sign a couple of papers early this morning. She assured me that he looked quite well and happy."

"That's probably because Ivan has brainwashed him, or drugged him, or worse," Alfred said darkly. "We need to do something!"

Arthur nodded. "Yes, but for the time being, I don't think it would help if either of us went to Ottawa. We have no evidence against Ivan, and I don't think Matthew would receive us kindly. What we need is a mediator. A neutral nation."

"But whom?"

"I was thinking of Vash. He has no interest in the matter, and I could probably get him to do the job – he owes me a favor."

Alfred doubtfully shook his head. "I don't like it. It seems too slow."

"I'm not too happy about it either, but I think it's the only sensible solution. Now, while I make arrangements with Vash, I need you to do something else: we need to get Ivan away from Matthew. It would be best if he had to go back to his own country because of some political event. Can you create some sort of incident that would not cause a war?"

A grim smile passed across Alfred's face. "Oh, I'll think about something," he promised. "Leave it to the hero."

"Good." Arthur nodded. "But be careful about it. Once we've removed Ivan, it should be easier to get through to Matthew and make him see reason. We're his family, after all. I think it's time to remind him of that. I'll propose that we all spend Christmas together – I'm willing to even suffer the bloody frog for a few days, if I have to! That way, we can watch over Matthew and hopefully talk some sense into him."

"Sounds like a plan," Alfred said, rubbing his hands. "I'll get dressed and call my people together for an impromptu meeting. Between themselves, all my frightfully clever diplomats, agents and military strategists should be able to come up with a couple of useful ideas. After all, there are quite a lot of them."

"It's half past one in the morning," Arthur said doubtfully.

"So? I'm America! I call, and they come running!"

"If you say so. Let me call Vash. He's six hours ahead of us and should be awake by now."


	15. Bern and Ottawa: Don't Ask, Don't Tell

_Note: Since Roderich, Marie and Vash all speak German as at least one of their national languages, their conversation would probably be carried on in German. Translations are tedious, however, so I wrote it in English._

* * *

><p>"Do you not like the food, Roderich?" Marie asked him, after casting a reproachful look at his barely touched plate. Roderich's raised his head and blinked somewhat confusedly, as if she had roused him from a daydream. "I apologize, Marie," he replied solemnly, "it is delicious."<p>

"But…?" She insisted.

"I suppose I am not that hungry today." He replied with a smile that looked a little pained.

"You seem preoccupied," she noted.

"It is of no importance."

Vash snorted depreciatively. "What's on your mind, Roderich? Economic issues? The ongoing financial crisis? Or a piece of music that you can't get out of your head… or maybe – a certain someone who so loves to taunt you? It was cruel of Kiku to place him next to you at the conference table. I doubt he even knows _how_ cruel."

Roderich scowled. "I have no desire to talk about Gilbert, Vash. I will deal with my own problems and it is none of your business."

"Oh, so he finally qualifies as a problem?"

"He has always been one, both as an ally and as an enemy."

"But certainly not your problem anymore…? The guy isn't even a nation anymore, and he hasn't been one for a long time. It's no small miracle that he didn't simply disappear – even though I keep hoping he will do just that one of these days. He's the one exception proving the rule, I suppose; a freak of nature."

"And maybe we need someone like Gilbert to remind us of our own mortality," Roderich suggested.

"Speak for yourself," Vash huffed, "I'm sure I wouldn't miss him." He looked at Roderich shrewdly. "But you would, wouldn't you?"

"I am not going to say it, Vash, so you might as well stop digging," Roderich replied airily.

Vash shook his head and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like an insult before pushing away his empty plate. "So," he said finally, "Something peculiar happened to me yesterday."

"Oh?" Roderich asked.

"You'll never guess. Arthur approached me in a matter very similar to the one you and Ivan addressed a few weeks ago."

"He wants you to mediate between Russia and America?" Roderich asked, sounding surprised.

"No." Vash grinned. "He wants me to talk Matthew Williams, aka Canada, out of his madness. Arthur didn't use those exact words, to be sure, but that's the gist of it. Very, strange, isn't it? It seems that all of a sudden, everybody is taking an awful lot of interest in that boy's private affairs. But since his private affairs involve Russia, I can hardly blame them."

"Matthew is seeing Ivan?" Marie asked wide-eyed and seemingly incredulous.

Her brother shrugged. "You were at the last meeting. Didn't you see them…? Oh – that's right. You were too busy flirting with _Cuba_." He sneered.

Marie's pale cheeks flushed scarlet. "I didn't…"

Vash impatiently shook his head and she fell silent in obvious embarrassment.

Roderich frowned. _Jealous, aren't you, Vash? And I bet it was all very innocent. _

"Point is," Vash continued, "Arthur's request doesn't make that much sense to me. If he's got a problem with that Russo-Canadian alliance, why doesn't he take matters into his own hands? Canada is a former colony and still quite attached to him."

"Matthew wouldn't even talk to him right now," Roderich replied. "It seems that they had a… somewhat unfortunate encounter in Tokyo."

"Now that is just childish."

Roderich sighed. Of course, Vash wouldn't understand…! "Matthew seems to feel that everybody is patronizing him, and he may not even be wrong about that. His brother is a bit overbearing sometimes, and you know Arthur – a part of him is still yearning for the good old days of colonialism. Even Francis has tried to meddle in the past. It was only a matter of time before Matthew would grow tired of it all."

"And he believes that _Ivan_ would be less patronizing?" Vash asked. "Ha! What a fool. Ivan will swallow him up as a whole in the end, no matter what promises he made before. It's what he does. Incorporating and oppressing other nations is something of his specialty."

"I think his intentions are sincere," Roderich objected quietly.

"That's because you are a romantic fool. If you could finally get your own romantic entanglements sorted out, you might see more clearly. You're fighting a proxy war here, Roderich. Since you can't be happy in your own inappropriate relationship – or rather, non-relationship – with Gilbert, you are trying to promote theirs and defend it against all objections, be they reasonable or not. Arthur's sound pretty reasonable to me, Alfred's are somewhat hysteric."

"That is not true," Roderich objected, "I am helping them because I think it's a just cause. Everybody has a right to be happy. It has nothing to do with whatever relationship I have with Gilbert."

Vash rolled his eyes. "Oh, _sure_. And Ludwig and Feliciano are _just friends_." Once again, he shook his head. "You're an idiot."

"I believe you mentioned that already," Roderich said, now slightly exasperated. "But you are not seriously considering going to Ottawa to talk to Matthew on Arthur's behalf, are you? Let Arthur do his own talking. Besides, you cannot simply talk somebody out of being in love. It would be pointless to try."

Vash shrugged. "I suppose so, but I owe Arthur a favor and he called it in."

"Well, good luck. If I may give you some advice – try not to let Ivan know why you are visiting. He might not appreciate the suggestion that he is a bad influence on Matthew."

"Well, he better get used to it." Vash rolled his eyes. "But in the interest of my own health and wellbeing, I will try to consider Ivan's sensitivities."

"Wise choice," Roderich muttered.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Matthew's house was a place of peace and radiant happiness. It hosted three nations and a bear. One of the nations was content, enjoying the comfortable armchair, mulled apple cider and the present company. The second nation was deliriously happy and only vaguely aware of his surroundings. The third nation and the bear were fast asleep, the latter snoring softly and dreaming of fish.<p>

"This has to be the first time in history that there's a hockey game on TV and you aren't watching," Fidel teased.

Matthew slowly raised his head to smile at him. The smile was beautiful, but also a little scary in its intensity. If Fidel hadn't known better, he would have asked his friend what sort of drugs he was on and where you could get them…

"It's not a very important game," Matthew said with a brief glance at the screen, "and not terribly exciting, either."

"Neither is Ivan, considering that he has been asleep for over an hour now." Fidel raised his eyebrows at the Russian, who was curled up on the couch, his head resting in Matthew's lap. He looked surprisingly harmless. Almost… no. Ivan wasn't cute. No matter what Matthew did to him, Ivan would _never_ be cute. "You are running the poor guy ragged," Fidel told his friend.

Matthew grinned. It was a terribly _knowing_ grin that would have made Arthur blush scarlet and would have convinced him that Ivan had already fully corrupted his little boy. Fidel knew better, though. All Ivan had done was to let the bird out of its cage. Matthew was spreading his wings, showing sides of his personality that had led a miserable half-life in shadow and obscurity so far. They were out in the open now, and some of them were quite surprising.

"He's enjoying himself," Matthew said.

"Oh, I don't doubt that…! But he'd do anything you asked for, and even Ivan's stamina has its limits. You had him playing hockey all morning – and against the two of us, no less, even though I admit that I'm not much of an opponent – and that after God only knows what you did last night. I don't, and I don't want to know either, but I'll have you know that Kuma and I pulled pillows _and_ blankets over our heads… anyway, after that we had lunch that somehow turned into a pancake fight – I didn't even think those things would fly!"

"It all depends on how hard you throw them at somebody," Matthew told him, still grinning.

"Yes, I noticed that, after you had hit me twice. And the second one was covered it maple syrup! Anyway, after we ran out of pancakes, you decided that it would be awesome to have a snowball fight, and since I refused, poor Ivan had to deal with all your evil tricks. And he isn't used to how sneaky you can be if you want to. Well, and whatever you did between that and dinner, when you were actually _supposed to be taking a shower_; I'm sure you didn't let Ivan catch a breath then, either. So no wonder he's completely exhausted now."

"I'm sure he'll recover," Matthew replied, fondly looking down at Ivan. "Eventually."

"Huh." Fidel looked at the two of them. Okay, he had to admit that they were a cute couple. A strange one, but it did seem to fit… somehow. "You know that he will have to go back to Moscow. Eventually."

Matthew raised his head and met his gaze, his face suddenly solemn and almost sad. "I know," he sighed. "Soon, I suppose. That's why I'm trying to make the most of the time we have now. Who knows if – and when – we will get another chance like this." He shook his head. "It may sound strange, but while he's here, he's mine, and mine alone. I don't have to share. With everybody else, I've always had to share… I'm sure my parents both love me, in their own way; but Arthur's always liked Alfred better than me, and even though he tries to be fair, he can't really hide that. And Francis – well, you know Francis. He's very… generous with his affection and attention."

Fidel rolled his eyes. "That's a very diplomatic way of saying that he's a slut."

"Hey, don't insult my _papa_." Matthew smiled. "But I suppose you're right. Well, and as for you and Gilbert – you are my friends, so that's different. You come and go and I'm always happy to see you, but it just isn't the same, you know? And we don't even need to talk about my idiot brother. Half the time, Alfred barely acknowledges my existence, and the other half he spends getting on my nerves."

"If it's any consolation – I don't think it's personal. He behaves the same way around everybody else, except maybe Arthur. And he has no right to tell you what to do with your life, so don't feel bad about it. Be happy. You do have the right to be happy." Fidel looked down at Ivan, who was still slumbering peacefully. "And so does he," he added.

"I don't think Alfred agrees with you," Matthew replied wryly, "or Gilbert, for that matter."

"Alfred's an idiot. And Gilbert… well, that's a long story. His relationship with Ivan goes way back and I'm afraid Ivan thoroughly messed it up. Gilbert blames him for the dissolution of Prussia as well as for the German separation. And who knows what really went on behind that wall. I don't, and I don't think we'll ever learn the whole truth."

Matthew nodded, looking sad. "There are so many scars," he muttered. "So many bad memories, regrets, and hard feelings. And I don't think I'll ever fully understand Ivan, or his history, or why he did those things. Maybe I won't even get a chance to try and understand him…"

Fidel instantly felt sorry for his friend. "Cheer up, Matteo," he said, "I'm sure you will see him again, and often. Ivan would not willingly be parted from you. I've never seen him so truly happy."

"But it is all so difficult," Matthew replied, "We aren't just normal people. We are nations. What we do affects our countries, our peoples…"

"You know, I think it would be kind of fun if all the Canadians suddenly started to learn Russian and all the Russians suddenly had this inexplicable craving for maple syrup…" Fidel chuckled.

Matthew frowned. "It's no laughing matter," he objected. "This could cause serious harm to my people, and I'm responsible for them."

"I don't think the Brits were harmed that severely when Arthur was in a relationship with Francis. They probably picked up a few bad habits, but other than that… And both the Spanish and southern Italians seem pretty healthy to me, too, despite the fact that Antonio and Romano are joined at the hip. But if you're really worried about it, you should ask Roderich. He was married several times. I suppose, he would know all about those things."

"Maybe you are right." Matthew nodded. "I'll call Roderich tomorrow. Ivan says he has been very helpful so far."

Fidel nodded. "He's a good guy. He's a bit stiff sometimes, but once you get past that, he's actually quite nice. I remember that one time when…"

At that point he was interrupted by the chime of the doorbell. Matthew jerked up in surprise, finally waking up Ivan. "What's the matter?" He asked groggily.

Fidel shrugged. "Are you expecting a visitor, Matteo?"

Matthew shook his head. "Odd," he commented. He slid off the couch and walked out of the room. A moment later, they heard him cry out in surprise.

"Vash? What are you…? I mean, please come in… this is very unexpected."

Ivan frowned. "What is Switzerland doing here? He is no friend of Matthew, is he?"

"Not a particularly good one, as far as I know," Fidel confirmed. "They get along, but that's about it. Everybody gets along with Vash, but nobody really likes him. I wonder if he's still mad at me…?"

Ivan snorted depreciatively. "Nobody holds a grudge like Vash. "

Fidel was about to object and claim that he had behaved like a perfect gentleman towards Marie, that his intentions were pure and so on and so far, when Matthew and Vash entered the room. And as soon as the Swiss stepped through the door, Fidel's excuses became obsolete. It was _quite_ obvious that Vash was not prepared to hear them. He seemed, however, very well prepared for a second round of Chase-the-Cuban.

Luckily, being caught between Russia and America for too long had taught Fidel that hiding behind a bigger ally wasn't necessarily an act of cowardice. Sometimes it was just the smartest thing to do. Admittedly, hiding behind sleepy Russia sitting on Matthew's couch wasn't that easy, since it meant that he had to crawl behind said couch, but somehow he managed.

Vash advanced upon the couch like an angry bull, and the look in his eyes suggested that this particular bull might have been infected with mad cow disease.

Ivan blinked at him sleepily. His shirt was wrinkled and two of the buttons were undone. His blond hair was tousled and his face strangely peaceful. All in all, he was the very image of tired innocence. Vash therefore gave a surprised yelp when a long, muscular Russian arm shot out at surprising speed and he was caught by the front of his shirt. He dug his feet into the carpet, but Russia stubbornly and unrelentingly pulled him closer, a dreamy sort of smile on his face.

"Now, now," Ivan said in a scarily gentle sing-song voice, "be a good boy and behave yourself. Assaulting Matthew's friends in his own house? Tsk. That will not do, Vash. I am sure that is not what your mother taught you. When you are invited to somebody's house, you are supposed to behave yourself. You need to be nice, soft-spoken and polite. If you cannot promise me that you will be nice, I'm afraid I will have to retain you." Ivan sounded utterly serious, and the look on his face was still one of patronizing indulgence. Considering the fact that he was now standing and effortlessly lifting Vash from the ground like one might do with a misbehaving puppy, his apparent benevolence was starting to look creepily suspicious. Benevolence is wonderful when it radiates off a gentle old priest, but coming from mass-murdering lunatic… well. Fidel was pretty sure Vash now felt that his visit to Ottawa had been a very, very bad idea.

Or maybe not, since… "Let me down, you rambling madman!" Vash spluttered, after uttering a few choice swearwords in what Fidel could only assume was one of his national languages, even though he wasn't exactly sure which one.

"No, I don't think so," Ivan said pleasantly.

"Matthew, call off your pet grizzly bear, this is unbearable!"

Matthew, who had watched the scene in silence so far, apparently torn between shock and amusement, frowned. "But Kuma is a polar bear, not a grizzly bear, and I think he's hiding behind the couch with Fidel…" he objected weakly.

"I think he means Ivan," Fidel suggested. "But his accent is pretty bad, so I might be mistaken."

At that, Vash gave an inarticulate sound of rage, something between a scream and a growl, and struggled some more. It only served to annoy Ivan, who now punched him in the side with his other hand, judging that pain would probably quiet him.

"Why would he call you a bear…?" Matthew wondered, then pulled a face as Vash gasped in pain. "Ivan, enough. We can't let him mutilate Fidel, but I can't let you hit him, either. He's my guest, after all."

"It's alright, Matteo. I'll leave. I've been staying here for quite a while now, so I should probably go back home and look after a couple of things. Who knows what those fools in my so-called government have been up to while I was gone…" Fidel wriggled out from behind the couch, which was quite a feat for a man his size. Ivan was still keeping Vash in check.

"Listen, can you just have my stuff packed and shipped to Havana?" He asked.

"Of course." Matthew nodded. Then he turned to Ivan. "Maybe you could accompany him to the airport while Vash and I … talk?"

_Smart move, Matteo_, Fidel silently congratulated him. _This way, no one will get hurt and you'll hopefully have Vash out of the house by the time Ivan returns._

Ivan shrugged. It was impossible to say if he had understood the considerations behind Matthew's request, but he voiced no objections. A simple "da", was all he said, before releasing Vash and walking Fidel to the door.

"Hasta pronto, Matteo." Fidel called.

"Bye." Matthew smiled distractedly.

* * *

><p><em>I apologize to any of my readers who might be Swiss citizens andor have friendly feelings for Vash. I like him, too, but I nevertheless enjoy depicting him as a pigheaded idiot._


	16. Ottawa and Vienna: Love Hurts

Matthew led Vash into the living room, still feeling mildly annoyed at the unexpected intrusion and the disturbance it had caused. He had been hoping for a quiet evening in the company of his best friend and lover and Vash's sudden appearance had deprived him of the opportunity to watch Ivan in his sleep, which had become one of his new favorite pastimes. The most scary nation in the world oddly enough also happened to be the one who looked the most adorable when asleep; and watching him, the deep, soft in and out of breathing, the feathery flutter of long, pale eyelashes against slightly flushed cheeks, the smile that graced his lips when he was dreaming of sunflowers (for some strange reason, Ivan's dreams always involved sunflowers), was like meditation. It filled Matthew with a happy, peaceful sentiment of contentment.

There was no possible way Vash could have known or anticipated that, though, so Matthew decided to be civil. He was quite convinced that Vash had intended no harm by coming to Ottawa. Or at least he had not come to harm or annoy Matthew. Harming Fidel was an entirely different matter.

On the other hand, though, Ivan had handled the situation quite nicely, and even though Matthew felt that Vash was overreacting, he knew that Fidel had brought that one onto himself. The entire world knew that Vash was overprotective of his little sister, and Matthew thought that if Mariechen had been his own sister, he wouldn't have let her go on a date with Fidel, either. At least not unsupervised.

"Is there any particular reason for your visit, or were you merely hunting down Fidel?" He asked curiously.

Vash looked vaguely uncomfortable. "I suppose I should apologize," he said slowly, "I did not expect to see him and I think I might have overreacted a bit."

Matthew was surprised, but pleased by this admittance. "Apology accepted. I know that Fidel can be a bit of a bother, sometimes, and he _was_ trying to provoke you. But if you weren't looking for him, then what's the reason for this sudden visit?"

"I am afraid you are not going to like it," Vash said seriously. "But I have now repeatedly been asked to try and dissolve this conflict that is brewing between you, Ivan and your family, and I don't usually turn people down when they ask me to mediate. I find that wars are very troublesome and bad for business and should be avoided at all costs."

Matthew frowned. He should probably have seen this coming. The nations liked to employ Vash's services as a mediator, since he was considered to be one of the very few truly neutral nations in the world. In his opinion, though, there was no basis for negotiations. All of this was Alfred's fault – Alfred's, and maybe Arthur's. If they hadn't behaved like the stubborn, bigoted idiots they were, everybody would have been happy and would have minded their own business.  
>Somewhat startled he realized how truly angry he was. It usually took a lot to make him lose his temper, and even though Alfred was more likely to irritate him than anybody else, it had been a while since he had been this mad at his brother.<p>

_Fidel was right_, he thought grimly, _between the two of them, Ivan and Alfred are a threat to anybody's sanity. If one doesn't drive you crazy, the other certainly will. And right now I have Ivan turning my world upside down and making me doubt everything I used to believe in; while Alfred is yapping and baring his teeth at me from the other side of the fence like an angry dog._

"I don't want a war, either," he replied with forced calmness, "But right now, I'm not very happy with my brother, and I don't see why I should be diplomatic about this whole thing. My relationship with Ivan doesn't concern Alfred. It's none of his business. After all, I don't ask whether or not he's sleeping with Arthur, either, do I?"

Vash winced slightly, probably trying to rid his brain of unbidden images. "It wasn't Alfred, who asked me to mediate," he said, "Truthfully, I think your brother is too irrational and choleric to even consider taking the time to try and find a diplomatic solution. But Arthur has been around for quite a while now, and he has seen the horrors of too many wars. Besides, he values his good relationship with you and doesn't want to risk it."

"Right now, our relationship isn't really that good," Matthew replied frostily. "Arthur treats me like a child. He thinks he can still tell me what I should and should not do. Well, he's wrong. I don't care whether he approves of this or not, he'll have to learn to live with it." He crossed his arms in front of his chest, his face set in an expression of fierce determination. Family or not, he was not about to let Arthur decide what was best for him.

_Screw the Commonwealth! I've been on my own and self-dependant long enough. If Arthur thinks he can control me because his head of state is technically also mine, he's mistaken. If I have to, I'll change my form of government, even if it means upsetting a nice old lady._

He felt a little surprised at his own determination. No more than a few weeks ago he had been worrying about the consequences of his actions, about Alfred's troops crossing the border and Arthur threatening his existence as a sovereign nation. Now, he himself was considering taking the first step. If this was Ivan's doing, he already wielded more power over him than Matthew had given him credit for.

_Watch out, Matthew_, he thought. He wouldn't have been the first nation led down a dangerous path by someone he trusted. History was full of sad examples of such misguided trust. Ivan's record in this department was a bit longer than that of most other nations, but he wasn't the only one who had let others astray. _Alfred has done it, too, and often. Ludwig, when he forged that alliance with Sadiq's predecessor shortly before the first great war. And then later, his alliance with Feli during the second. And taking control of Austria. What did he tell Roderich? 'Let me take you by the hand and show you the way'? Ha! _

Vash's deep sigh made him look up.

"What?" He asked irritably.

"I was afraid you would say something like that," Vash replied. "It doesn't make my work any easier."

"That's just too bad," Matthew drawled, "deal with it. I'm not going to back down. Not this time. I can take care of myself, and I want to deal with my feelings for Ivan without familial interference. It's difficult enough as it is. I really don't need Arthur looking over my shoulder or Alfred's _'help'_. Or yours, for that matter."

Vash realized that his strategy wasn't working and apparently decided to try a different approach. "Look," he said, "I understand that you don't appreciate the interference, but many of the others are concerned about the effects this will have on your country and citizens. Canada is, after all, the second largest country in the world, and not without influence. It might tip the balance of international relations if you got any closer to Ivan. I know that you don't intend this to be a political union, but you have to remember that what we do always affects or countries and populations in some way or other. It is nearly impossible to predict what changes your new closeness to Ivan might cause. At best, political relations between Canada and Russia will warm up and there will be an increased exchange of tourists, students, economic goods and so on. But it could also cause damage to your people. And personally, I'm not exactly fond of the idea of seeing you swallowed up by the largest country in the world. You are a nice, sensible and reliable partner, which is a lot more than I could say for Ivan."

"I can assure you, that is _not_ Ivan's intention," Matthew replied sharply.

Vash looked doubtful. "Maybe, maybe not. But it could still happen unintentionally. And forgive me for being this frank with you, but Ivan isn't exactly the most sane and stable among us."

Matthew opened his mouth to make an angry retort, then shut it again, realizing that it was pointless. No matter what he said in Ivan's defense, Vash would never truly believe him. He did not _want_ to believe him. Besides, he knew that deep down; he himself entertained some doubts as to the true state of Ivan's mind. He felt horrible for doubting Ivan, but their relationship was so new, so fragile, and he knew that Ivan had been holding back so far. They had stayed in safe waters, very close to the surface. There were dark and hidden depths that neither of them was all too keen to explore for fear of what truths and secrets they might unearth.

However, that was one problem they would have to tackle themselves. Vash could not help him with that. Actually, Vash couldn't help him at all. He wasn't even here to help him.

Matthew shook his head. It was no use. "I think you should leave now," he said.

Vash looked somewhat hurt at that, but none too surprised. "I will, if you ask me to," he said, "but I think we really need to find some sort of solution or compromise in the near future. The current situation is far from ideal." He paused as if considering something. "Would you at least be willing to attend a meeting with Arthur? I could try to arrange that, and I'm sure he would agree. If you want to, we could invite Alfred and Ivan, too."

"Heavens, Vash, do you want to provoke the third world war?" Matthew cried out. "No. Absolutely not. Alfred and Ivan aren't going anywhere _near_ each other if I can prevent it."

Vash shrugged. "It was merely a suggestion. But you would be willing to meet Arthur?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "If I have to."

Vash nodded. "Very well then. I will contact you again when I have set it up."

Matthew accompanied him to the door. Just before turning around to leave, Vash looked at him for a long moment, something akin to worry in his gaze. "Be careful, Matthew." He said no more, leaving Matthew standing in the doorway, frowning slightly. It was the first time Vash had actually used his name.

* * *

><p>Ludwig knew that spying on your brother wasn't exactly a nice thing to do. It was morally questionable and usually didn't promote trust and affection between siblings, either. On the other hand though, he had good reason for his actions, since he was trying to protect a third party. Besides, he wasn't even truly spying. Gilbert knew that he was in Vienna to attend a meeting of the Permanent German-Austrian Boundary Commission, or at least Ludwig had told him about it a couple of weeks ago. Knowing his brother, though, he probably hadn't been listening at all.<p>

He still felt less than comfortable with his defensive reasoning, but decided to let it rest for the moment. After all, he had a job to do.

Keeping Gilbert out of trouble was a Herculean task that Ludwig accepted with all the enthusiasm of a factory worker doing overtime. But Gilbert was his responsibility, and as much as he sometimes wished to be rid of his in-house Prussian demon, he still loved his brother. And right now, he was curious, too.

Gilbert had been sitting in his chair quietly and demurely without so much as uttering a word or moving a single finger for well over half an hour; and that was _very_ unusual. At first, Ludwig had suspected him of being asleep, but his brother's strange reddish eyes were open and fixed on the stage as if he was watching the most fascinating performance of his life. Which was rather surprising, considering that they were both attending a classical concert.

Ludwig had to admit that the orchestra and soloists were superb and that the music was very beautiful and enjoyable, but surely Gilbert had heard many splendid concert performances during the course of his long life, so this one shouldn't have been that special.

And yet it _was_.

It was special, because of the single man standing with his back turned to the audience, his hands moving through the air in elegant, unhurried gestures. Most men – and many women – look good in a tailcoat, but Ludwig had to admit that Roderich wore his with an aristocratic nonchalance that most other nations would have lacked. Ludwig did not feel particularly comfortably thinking this, but he could not deny that his friend was a _very_ attractive man. He would never have said something like that out loud, but admitting it to himself helped him to understand Gilbert's strange fascination with the Austrian a little better.

_Well_, Ludwig thought, unable to suppress a smile, _not that strange, actually. My idiot brother is too dense and too proud to admit it, but he has probably had a crush on Roderich for the last two centuries. Poor Gilbert. I doubt he'll ever gather up the courage to tell Roderich about it. He is far too scared of being rejected._

And he probably would be. Roderich was no fool. Whatever his own feelings for Gilbert might have been, he was careful to keep him at arm's length. Roderich didn't _hate_ Gilbert, he just considered him a terrible nuisance and a threat to his own sanity. Ludwig was pretty sure that he had interpreted the strange fondness that hid behind Roderich's expression of rightful indignation right, but the Austrian was very cautious. And since neither he nor Gilbert were particularly affectionate by nature, they had convinced most of the other nations of their mutual dislike.

The music ebbed away and Ludwig watched his brother rise with the rest of the enthusiastic audience. To his surprise, he saw Gilbert hastily wipe a few tears from his eyes.

Once again, Ludwig smiled. _Oh, Gilbert. You are such a fool._

But at least his brother had behaved himself and not attempted to interrupt Roderich's performance or to play a stupid trick on him. Ludwig loved his brother, but that did not mean he trusted him, and especially not around Roderich. After all, their southern neighbor was Gilbert's victim of choice.

As the crowd started to move out of the concert hall, he stepped to his brother's side.

"West?" Gilbert asked, looking bewildered. "What are you doing here?"

Ludwig rolled his eyes. "Probably the same as you are. I was watching Roderich conduct Mozart. And it was a splendid performance, as always. I'm glad I came."

"Yes, he is very…" But the Gilbert stopped abruptly. Roderich, after accepting flowers and congratulations, was making his way towards them. Ludwig was pretty sure that his brother's face grew even paler than usual. He looked downright nervous.

"Good evening, Ludwig," Roderich greeted him pleasantly, "I'm glad you accepted my invitation."

"So am I," Ludwig replied, "I enjoyed the music very much. So did Gilbert, I believe." Maybe it was mean – judging from the look his brother sent him, _he_ certainly thought so – but he just couldn't resist.

Roderich slowly turned his steady gaze towards the fidgeting Prussian. "Gilbert. I am surprised to see you here."

Gilbert shrugged. "I was bored." But he did not dare to look at Roderich.

Roderich smiled. "Of course. I'm afraid I really do need to shower and change now. Will you accompany Ludwig and me to dinner, Gilbert?"

Gilbert's red eyes narrowed suspiciously as he looked at his brother. "You are having dinner together?"

Ludwig was fighting very hard to suppress a grin. _He's jealous! Why, Gilbert, you're such an idiot sometimes!_ "Yes, Gilbert," he said patiently, "and I told you about that a while ago. It's part of those talks regarding the line of the border."

"What's there to talk about?" Gilbert huffed. "Everybody knows where the border is, and besides, you don't even guard or patrol it anymore."

"Occasionally, there are minimal changes, though," Roderich explained, "part of the border is made up of streams or little rivers that may change their course. Ludwig and I don't always attend those talks, we usually leave it to the Boundary Commission, but occasionally, we both like to look into it."

"Huh." Gilbert shook his head. "I think I'll pass. Sounds pretty boring to me."

"I am glad you came tonight, though." Roderich said. The sentence lingered meaningfully in the air between them for a moment, while both of them looked anywhere but at each other, then Roderich cleared his throat and turned back to Ludwig. "I will see you later."

He walked away, and Ludwig watched his brother stare at his retreating form.

_Oh dear…_

* * *

><p>The nice thing about Ivan, Matthew mused, was that he was utterly incapable of hiding or even masking his feelings. So as soon as his lover stepped through the door, Matthew knew that something had happened. And judging from the look on Ivan's face, he was <em>not<em> happy about it.

"Is he gone?" He asked, looking around for Vash.

Matthew nodded. "Yes. Do you want to know why he was here?"

Ivan raised his brows. "If you want to tell me. It's not really that hard to imagine, though. Let me guess – they sent Vash to talk some sense into you? Smart move. Arthur is a coward, though."

"Well," Matthew replied, smirking, "you are pretty intimidating, after all. What would you have done if Arthur had come personally?"

Ivan's face darkened and the room temperature dropped a little.

"I thought so, too," Matthew muttered. "Anyway, I told Vash to mind his own business and sent him away."

Ivan did not reply. He stepped to the window, staring at the dark, reflecting surface. Matthew suddenly felt cold. He felt that something was wrong, but was afraid to ask. For a long moment, they remained silent, then a tremor ran through Ivan's large body and Matthew heard him curse softly in Russian.

"What is it?" He asked, willing his voice not to tremble.

"I have to leave," Ivan growled.

"Now?" Matthew asked, alarmed.

Ivan turned around. The expression on his face was a confusing mixture of emotions; anger, annoyance, sadness and something utterly unreadable. "Yes. Almost immediately. Something happened at home, something that I cannot ignore."

"But you are not going to tell me what," Matthew stated.

Ivan's expression softened a little. "It is not important," he said, "and it has nothing to do with you. Don't worry. You knew I would have to go back eventually."

_Yes_, Matthew thought, _but I was trying to forget that._

"Maybe it is selfish," Ivan said, "but I don't want to be parted from you. I have no choice in the matter, but I wish it was different."

There was already such a distance between them, Matthew thought with growing dread, like the distance of many, many miles. He swallowed hard. It was stupid, but he felt that he had just found Ivan and was now losing him again.

_Don't go_, he wanted to cry, but he firmly closed his mouth to keep the words from escaping.

Ivan had not moved for a long moment, but now he did, suddenly and in a blur, covering the short distance that separated them physically in three long strides and crushing Matthew to his chest in a tight embrace. Matthew clung to him desperately, never mind the bruises Ivan's iron grip was likely to leave him with.

"I don't want you to leave," he whispered between two frantic, fervid kisses. Apparently it was the right thing to say, he could see in Ivan's eyes how much those words meant to him. He brought their lips together once again, moaning as he felt Ivan deepen the kiss. Large hands slid beneath his shirt, one stroking up his back, the other resting against his side. Matthew knew where this was leading, and that knowledge sent thrills of anticipation through his body.

He was probably going to run out of shirts soon, since Ivan made a habit of ripping them apart, but for now, Matthew couldn't have cared less. He snug one of his own hands beneath Ivan's waistband, his fingers ghosting over hipbones and the hard muscles of Ivan's lower abdomen. Maybe he was a bit shallow, but Matthew greatly admired Ivan's well-trained, muscular body. Of course there were scars, and not few of them, but on the whole it was graceful and strong and utterly beautiful.

He felt Ivan's erection through his pants, hot and hard against his own body and smirked, deliberately bringing his knee up between Ivan's legs, increasing the friction. Ivan groaned. Deciding that it would be an act of mercy to free him of his constricting pants, Matthew pulled back a little, his fingers trembling slightly as he busied himself with the buttons.

Ivan was watching him intently from heavy-lidded purple eyes.

Matthew smiled up at him, then moved a hand down to stroke him through the fabric of his briefs. A shudder ran through Ivan's body. He was not about to let Matthew take control of _anything,_ though. Being jerked around like a rag doll was not usually Matthew's thing, but those were special circumstances and patience really wasn't one of Ivan's virtues, at least not in situations like this. Matthew wriggled out of his pants and underwear before Ivan could get a chance to tear up anything else, then he wrapped his arms around his lover's neck and his legs around his waist.

"Well…?" He asked teasingly, "I thought you had to leave immediately?"

Ivan's unusual eyes were glazed with lust. "I said _almost_ immediately. This is _almost_."

"I see," Matthew muttered. "And now…?"

"Shush." Ivan put a finger to his lips. Taking this as an invitation, Matthew opened them, pushing his tongue against the finger, gently lapping around it and then sucking it into his mouth, first one finger, then a second. Hearing Ivan's deep-throated moan, he once again vowed to send Francis a thank-you card and a bouquet of roses.

Ivan pulled back his hand and shifted slightly. Matthew gasped as he felt saliva-slickened fingers push into him. _God, yes_, he thought, trying to remember that breathing was supposed to be good for your health. Ivan was touching all the right spots, but he was moving too slowly. Matthew knew that he wouldn't be rushed though, and that asking him to do so would only make him move even slower. Sometimes, Ivan was downright cruel.

But it really wouldn't have killed him to hurry up a little, would it? Though… hurrying up would also mean that it would be over sooner, and then Ivan would leave… and Matthew didn't want him to leave, never wanted him to leave…

His thoughts were on the verge of becoming incoherent, when Ivan pulled his hand back. Matthew felt the heat of his erection, then a sharp pang pain when Ivan pushed into him. He would never, ever tell anyone about this, not even Ivan (though he suspected that his lover already knew about it), but in this situation, Matthew almost liked the pain. It had been a slightly disconcerting discovery, and maybe it made him a bit sick, but he couldn't help it. He did not actually _enjoy_ pain, but sometimes he needed it. It brought an edge to the whole thing, a dangerous and delicious edge; and it made him feel more _real_. It was difficult to describe.

He would not mention this to Ivan, though. From what he had gathered of rumors and secret whispers, Ivan liked pain, too… with the slight difference that he liked inflicting it upon others. Maybe they were a good match in that respect, but Matthew was not going to invite disaster by actually _telling_ Ivan that he liked to be hurt. That would have sounded too much like an invitation, and he did not want to end like Lithuania, thank you very much.

Ivan's hands cupped his buttocks as he thrust into him, and Matthew was very glad for the strong, unwavering grip and the wall at his back. They meant that he could abandon himself completely, that there was a point where he didn't have to think anymore; didn't have to think about Alfred or Arthur, about Ivan's departure, about his fears or the feeling that all of this was going to end badly.

But all too soon it was over, and he felt Ivan kissing the tears off his cheeks.

* * *

><p><em>Once again I wrote this in a rush, so there might be some mistakes. If you find any, please tell me about it. [Thanks for mentioning that Canada is actually the -second- largest country in the world. See, that's what happens when your favorite author is in a hurry to get to the yaoi part ;) ]<br>_

_By the way, there really is such a thing as the Permanent German-Austrian Boundary Commission (Ständige Deutsch-Österreichische Grenzkommission); I was not making that up.  
><em>


	17. Washington and Moscow: Brothers, Enemies

_I finished this chapter early, and since I love you all to pieces, I decided to break my usual weekend routine and update a bit sooner. Here's the long awaited clash between Matthew and Alfred. Have fun!_

* * *

><p>Matthew's mood had been far from happy when Ivan had left, and it became downright gloomy when he had been gone for about an hour or two. He retreated to his bedroom, crawled under the sheets, and since he felt too agitated to sleep, he spent most of the night petting Kumajiro and watching Star Trek reruns, indulging in chocolate ice cream and self-pity.<br>Which was certainly not a healthy way to deal with your problems.

He slept until about noon the next day, until he was woken by a hungry polar bear demanding his ration of fish. Yawning, Matthew went downstairs, fed the bear, then put in a call to his office, telling his head secretary not to expect him that day.

"Are you feeling alright, Sir?"

_No_, would have been the honest answer, but Matthew did not want to upset any of his citizens. They usually assumed that the end of the world was near if he was feeling unwell.

"It is nothing," he replied with forced cheerfulness, "I am just… busy."

He had just stepped out of the shower and gotten dressed when the doorbell rang. Matthew frowned. He really didn't feel in the mood to receive visitors. Maybe it was just the mail, though. Closely followed by Kumajiro, who had taken a particular liking to Fidel and was secretly hoping the Cuban might be back, Matthew walked to the door.

As soon as he opened it, though, he had the sudden and violent desire to slam it shut again. On his front porch, wearing a navy blue parka over his usual bomber jacket was Alfred.

"Hi Mattie." He looked slightly nervous, possibly because Matthew's inhospitable sentiments were clearly written on his face.

"Go away, Alfred. I don't want to see you."

His brother had the grit to look hurt at that – when it should have been obvious that he was the last person in the world Matthew wanted to see right now. Matthew raised his hands, prepared to shove Alfred away if he came any closer.

"I'm not here to fight," his brother hastily assured him.

Matthew eyed him warily. He was rather taken aback by that statement and didn't really trust Alfred right now. "You aren't?" He asked suspiciously.

Alfred smiled at him, one of those big, goofy, good-natured smiles that made him look as happy and innocent as a child. Matthew had known him for all his life, but he had never managed to build up a tolerance to those smiles.

Sighing softly, he gave in. "Alright. What do you want?"

"I haven't seen you forever! And you ignored all my calls, and I was so worried you were sick, or unhappy, or you would hate me… you don't hate me, Matt, do you?" Alfred looked at him from those big, baby-blue eyes.

"No, you idiot," Matthew huffed. "Of course I don't hate you." _I did come pretty close to hating you, though. _"And I'm so not going to discuss Ivan with you. Period."

Alfred frowned, and for a brief moment, something flickered through his eyes. Matthew did not quite catch it, but it definitely wasn't good. Then the smile returned, like the sun coming up after a sudden summer rain. "Okay. That's alright. As long as you aren't mad at me."

"I _am_ mad at you. The fact that I don't hate you doesn't mean that I'm not mad at you."

"Hey, I was only worried about you! I'm your _brother_."

"Yes. Unfortunately."

"Can we be friends again?" Alfred pleaded. He shook a large bag he was carrying in his right hand. "I brought lunch."

Probably burgers, Matthew suspected, but he hadn't had lunch yet, and any kind of fast food was still better than Arthur's cooking, so…

"Come in," he sighed, holding the door open for Alfred, "and watch the bear, he is already eyeing that bag."

"Oh, I brought a burger for Kumajiro, too," Alfred replied happily as he followed Matthew to the kitchen. "I even remembered to get the one with fish!"

"You're a genius," Matthew said, sarcasm clearly audible in his voice. He got out a couple of plates and some extra napkins, poured Alfred a glass of Coke and got another one for himself. He wasn't ready to forgive his brother yet, but ignoring him didn't appear to be an option, either. Besides, he could really use the distraction. And he was hungry.

He had just finished his first cheeseburger and was on the verge of getting the second, when he realized that something was off. The room was suddenly starting to spin and everything blurred before his eyes. His body went strangely limp, his muscles refusing to do what he wanted them to do. Just before his head dropped onto the table, Matthew understood.

"Alfred, you _bastard_! You spiked my food!"

Then he passed out.

* * *

><p>Thousands of miles away in Moscow, Ivan was supremely annoyed. He had arrived, only to find that this apparent crisis they had called him home to deal with was nothing more than a minor diplomatic disaster. Apparently, the incident had involved an American military vessel and a Russian fish trawler having a somewhat unfortunate encounter in the Sea of Japan, not too far from the Russian town of Nakhodka.<p>

The precise sequence of events had not yet been reconstructed, but it was certain that the American ship had sunk the fish trawler, one way or another and had apparently taken some damage itself. Both crews were safe and healthy, though, and currently being questioned by Russian investigators in Nakhodka.

Ivan was pretty sure the whole thing would be cleared up soon, though he could not help but wonder… what the heck had an American military vessel been doing just outside Nakhodka Bay? As far as he knew, most of the American ships were supposed to be in Yokosuka, where the Seventh Fleet was based, and that was on the far side of Japan. But that was merely curiosity. Even if Alfred's people had been spying on him that was something his own military and intelligence services could deal with. They did not need him for that and the fact that they had called him unnecessarily greatly annoyed him.

After shouting at a couple of ministers and senior officers, he decided that it was no use. The damage was done, he was here now, but he could at least call Matthew in Ottawa and invite him to spend New Year's Eve in St. Petersburg. He had been planning to do that for awhile, and since he was feeling grumpy and already missed his little Canadian, now seemed to be the perfect time to deliver that invitation.

He wanted to hear Matthew's voice, even though it was a poor substitute for having him in his arms, warm and real and whispering to him.

Ivan retreated to his office, instructed his secretary not to let anyone including the president enter or otherwise disturb him, and shut the door after adding a few threats for good measure. People sometimes mistook a _'no' _for a _'maybe'_, but no one ever mistook an _'I will rip out your liver and feed it to you'_ for a _'sure, come in and disturb me anytime you feel like it'_.

He placed the call, but was disappointed to find that Matthew didn't pick up. Feeling slightly worried, he called Matthew's office (maybe he was working and had turned off his cell phone?). A friendly assistant told him that her boss was currently unavailable.

"Do you know where he is?" Ivan asked, now getting frustrated.

"I am afraid I cannot disclose that information to you, Mr. …?"

"Ivan Braginski, and yes, you can."

"Let me check… well yes, you are listed among his contacts as a representative of the Russian government. Is it very important?"

_Well, actually, the Russian government represents __**me**__…_

"Yes!" Ivan growled, cursing her. "I need to know where he is."

"Can I take a message?"

"No, I want to speak to him personally. Just tell me where he is."

"His brother called a few hours ago to let us know that he went to Washington D.C. on business. Apparently, Mr. Williams did not have the time himself. He will be staying there a couple of days."

_Matvey went to Washington? To see Alfred?_

Ivan was truly puzzled now. _Why would he go to see Alfred? He was furious at his brother… but then, knowing Matvey, he probably caved in and decided that they had to find a way to resolve those tensions. He's much too kindhearted to stay mad at anyone for too long, and he is too sensible to make an enemy out of his next-door neighbor._

It did make sense, after all. But that did not mean he was happy about it.

_I will not call Alfred_, he decided, _but I will try Matvey's cell again later. I have to make sure that Alfred isn't trying to poison his heart against me._

* * *

><p>Matthew woke up to the familiar setting of the guest bedroom he usually occupied when visiting his brother. For a short, disoriented moment, it was pleasantly familiar and comforting. Then the blurry memories of how he had actually gotten here returned, and Matthew was out of the bed and at the door in two seconds.<p>

The door was locked, but he had expected nothing else. And a locked door certainly did not prevent him from screaming obscenities at his brother in English, French and half a dozen indigenous languages. Alfred was unlikely to understand most of the words, but Matthew made sure that he would get the message.

Alfred arrived after Matthew had been cursing and insulting him, his parents, his offspring, most of his body parts and his population at the top of his voice for about three minutes, which was a good thing, because verbally abusing somebody tends to get pretty tiresome if the person in question isn't listening. Matthew heard his footsteps on the stairs; then they stopped right in front of the door.

"Hey, Mattie, I guess this means you're awake now?" Alfred inquired.

Which gave his brother a welcome opportunity to say a few choice words about his mental capacities and the apparent contents of his head.

"Okay, I realize that you're pretty upset right now, but could you stop screaming, so I can explain things to you?" Alfred said.

Matthew hadn't run out of swearwords and insults yet, but he was very curious to hear _that_ particular explanation, so he decided to interrupt his rant for a moment. He could – and probably would – still insult Alfred to his heart's content later.

Alfred interpreted his sudden silence as a form of assent. "Look, I really didn't mean to hurt you or anything," he began, "but I knew you wouldn't come with me willingly, and I also knew that if I tried to talk to you in Ottawa, you would just slam the door into my face. Here, you can't do that. And I really need to talk to you. I know that you don't see it that way, and that's understandable, since you've probably been brainwashed by Ivan, but you are in grave danger! I had to save you! You're my brother, and I'm the hero, and heroes don't just leave their helpless little brothers in the clutches of evil! Ivan was going to do horrible things to you, and I couldn't let that happen. I really think that…"

Whatever he wanted to say next was drowned by and inarticulate scream of rage, as Matthew threw himself against the door. Alfred had been right on one account at least – horrible things were going to happen. But they were not going to happen to Matthew.

The door groaned ominously under the violent assault.

"Matthew, stop it! You are going to hurt yourself!" Alfred shouted. "Be reasonable! I will open the door, if you promise me not to do anything stupid. We can have a nice, civilized chat. Hey, I even got you some ice cream! Chocolate and pineapple, your favorite flavors."

"_Va te faire enculer!_"

"Er… I guess that's a no to the ice cream…?"

"_Casse-toi! _Alfred, you dickhead, my favorite ice cream flavors are chocolate and strawberry, and I don't want to have a chat with you, or eat ice cream; right now I just really, really want to cut off your balls and feed them to you, _salaud!_"

"I guess I'll come back later, then…" Alfred said. "But I really think you're overreacting a bit. And where the hell did you learn that many swearwords...?"

* * *

><p>Matthew proceeded to colorfully insult his brother until he had screamed himself hoarse and run out of swearwords, which took him about a day and a half. He also gave up trying to force the door open, since it only gave him bruised ribs and didn't amount to anything useful.<p>

Alfred came upstairs to try and reason with him fourteen times, his voice sounding more and more worried each time. When Matthew finally shut up, and audible sigh of relief was heard from the other side of the door.

"You must be really thirsty by now," he commented. "Okay, listen; I'll open the door, if you promise not to strangle me."

Matthew, who had already decided to change his strategy, tentatively agreed. Alfred opened the door. He looked tense and ready to defend himself, but his brother made no move to attack him.

"Get me some water," Matthew rasped. Talking hurt, and he blamed that on Alfred, too. "You are a terrible host."

Alfred risked a small smile. "See, I knew you would come round eventually. Let's go downstairs. Are you hungry?"

Matthew accepted food and drink and let Alfred's long-winded explanations and justifications wash over him like a wave of brackish water. He wasn't really listening, though. He had already decided what to do next and was now working out the details.

Alfred would pay for this.

Alfred would pay for this; and Matthew would make him regret the day he had stepped into existence.

* * *

><p>Ivan waited for two days before calling Francis.<p>

He had tried to contact Matthew through all possible private, governmental and diplomatic channels without success, his mood growing darker and darker with each futile attempt, until no one but the most courageous of his people dared to approach him anymore.

On the evening of the second day, he could not stand it any longer, scrolled down his list of contacts and swore that he would _make_ Francis tell him what was going on. And if the Frenchman didn't know, he would torture the information out of Arthur before travelling to Washington and gutting Alfred.

Francis greeted him with the usual pleasantries, sounding as cheerful and unconcerned as ever. He grew a bit more serious, though, when Ivan snarled at him.

"Francis," Ivan growled, "_where is he?_"

Silence reigned at the other end of the line, before Francis gave a somewhat strangled "Oh." He caught himself quickly, though. "I suppose you are talking about Mathieu, non?" He said. "I was beginning to wonder about that to. I was told by his secretary that he had gone to Washington to talk things over with Alfred, which seems very reasonable and just the thing Mathieu would do, but I can't reach him."

Ivan cursed under his breath. "That's it!" He spat. "I'm going to Washington. And if I find that Alfred has done anything to him, you better be prepared for the end of the world."

"I will begin to make the appropriate arrangements," Francis replied drily. "But go ahead. I know I can't stop you. Just try not to kill Mathieu in the process. I'll try to find out what's going on from here, and if I learn anything, I'll call you."

* * *

><p><em>I will not translate what Matthew said to Alfred – if you really want to know, you can google those words. Let's just say that our favorite Canadian was being pretty rude. By the way – those swearwords are used in France; I have no idea whether they are also common in the French-speaking part of Canada. But I think we all got the message. Including Alfred ;)<em>


	18. London and Washington: Healing Touch

Arthur wasn't in a particular good mood when his assistant told him that he had a phone call waiting on the secure line, and his mood certainly didn't improve when he learned that the caller was Francis.

"What do you want, frog?" He snapped. One of his soccer teams had just lost an important game, the foreign minister was complaining about the recent tensions in their relations with Canada, and Alfred wasn't taking his calls. On top of it all, it was also raining.

"Arthur," Francis chirped, "did you get up on the wrong side of bed? Or maybe next to the wrong person…?"

"No!" Arthur replied irritably. "Why would I… I mean – oh, never mind!"

"Trust me; it happens to me all the time. Such an inconvenience, really. First all the lengthy explanations, then the fuss and the tears when you are trying to get rid of them… who was it, by the way? Do I know him?"

"I said never mind, Francis!"

"Oh, so you don't want to tell me? I promise not to tell _Amérique_…"

"Just get to the point," Arthur replied wearily, rubbing his head. He could already feel a headache coming, and he hadn't even been talking to Francis for two minutes!

"As you wish," Francis replied pleasantly. Then his voice grew a little more serious: "I am afraid, I have bad news. There has been an… ah… incident, and we are both wanted in our capacity of parents to those two fools occupying the northern half of the American continent. It seems that our adorable children have managed to get themselves in trouble."

Arthur groaned, silently cursing both Matthew and Alfred – but mostly Alfred, since he was usually the ringleader. "What happened…?" He barely dared to ask.

"Oh…" Francis drew out the word, apparently not comfortable with what he was going to say next, "I got a call from the administration of a private hospital in Washington. Something about Alfred, Matthew and a pair of hockey sticks. They weren't too specific. Seems that neither of them quite managed to bash the other's head in, but they're both in pretty bad shape."

Dead silence reigned at the other end of the line.

"Arthur…?" Francis asked warily. "Say something, so I know you're still there and haven't fainted."

Arthur drew a deep, shuddering breath. This was bad. Very, very bad. "This is not the moment for jokes, Francis! What can we do?"

"Not much, I suppose. Ludwig was apparently visiting with Alfred when it happened, and he's sort of keeping Ivan in check right now, which I'm sure is a great relief to everyone involved… "

"I don't understand this…!" Arthur murmured, half to himself. "Why would they do something like that? Alfred _does_ get a little overexcited sometimes, but he is not a violent person. And Matthew…? They are brothers, after all…"

"Well…" Francis replied, once again drawing out the word, "you should be the first to admit that Alfred can be a pain in the ass, and his behavior towards Mathieu hasn't exactly been brotherly lately. If someone was constantly meddling with my love life, telling me what to do and trying to re-enact Shakespearian drama over something that's essentially a private matter, I'd get pissed, too, pardon the language."

"Alfred is worried about him," Arthur pointed out, "and with good reason, I think."

"Oh, I know that the two of you imagine Ivan to be the villain who has stolen Mathieu's heart and is now taking advantage of him, because he has some big, secret, evil plan somewhere at the back of his mind. The only problem with this pretty little picture of yours is that the damsel in distress is actually an intelligent young man who is well able to take care of himself and make his own decisions. And Ivan has deep feelings for him. I really think you should start to get used to the idea that their attachment is mutual and that there's nothing sinister about it."

"Nothing sinister about it…?" Arthur echoed incredulously. "The Matthew I know, the boy I raised, would never attack his brother with a hockey stick. This has to be Ivan's doing!"

"There is verifiable evidence to the contrary. Ivan was in Moscow when it happened, and he had no clue. I know, because he called me to ask about Mathieu. He was getting worried, since he didn't get an answer to any of his calls. But there's no use arguing about it now. We should get to Washington, and fast. Go pack your backs and be ready to meet me at London Heathrow, five o'clock sharp. I have a plane standing by, and will pick you up on the way. After all, it would be a shameful waste of resources if I were to fly alone, _n'est ce pas?_ Besides, I'm not letting you travel to Washington alone, not when Ivan is there, too, and Alfred has been hurt."

Arthur would have rather bitten his tongue off than to admit it, but deep down he knew that Francis was probably right. He was annoying, impolite and shameless and they hardly ever agreed on anything, but at least his presence would prevent Arthur from doing anything rash.

* * *

><p>You could certainly not accuse Ludwig of being timid or faint-hearted, but when Russia stormed into the room, surrounded by a black and violet aura of murderous hatred and frenzied rage, he was pretty close to ducking out of the way and taking shelter behind the large wooden desk.<p>

"Where is he?" Ivan's voice was a guttural snarl; and it wasn't exactly human anymore.

"Which one of them?" Ludwig asked cautiously, silently wondering whether now would be a good time to set off a fire alarm and have the building evacuated.

Ivan paused, apparently thrown off track by the question. He looked slightly puzzled, as his hatred of Alfred fought his anxiety about Matthew. Ludwig decided to use this to his advantage, because he knew that Arthur would never forgive him if he let Ivan lynch Alfred.

"I think you should go see Matthew," he said in a forcibly calm voice. "He's two doors down the hall and to the left. I'll show you to his room. But don't be alarmed – he's hurt, and he hasn't been awake yet, apparently they sedated him, or maybe he slipped into unconsciousness himself, I couldn't quite figure that out. He's in pretty bad shape, though." He paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to phrase what he needed to say next. Judging from his demeanor, Ivan was very close to his personal boiling point. The slightest insult might set him off; and Ludwig knew that this was a touchy subject with most of the older nations. Still, he had no choice but to mention it: "I need to ask a favor," he began, carefully choosing his words, "not for myself, but for Matthew. As I said, he is not well, and it will take him quite a while to recover. But I am worried about the effects this might have on his people. Nations don't get hurt that easily, and usually, our injuries are tied to some sort of negative national event, a war or an epidemic, something like that. This time, though, it is a _personal_ injury… and it is not unheard of that one of those could have negative effects on the population."

"Ludwig," Ivan cut him short impatiently, "get to the point. What do you want me to do? I can hardly nurse and cuddle thirty million Canadians while Matvey is ill."

"No, but you could help to speed Matthew's recovery, couldn't you? I know it's possible. I know that the strongest among us have always been able to temporarily share their strength with one or even several of the others. All the old nations know about it, even though it is not a topic they like to discuss. It is considered taboo, but it _can_ be done. I know, because Alfred did it for me once… after the war, when I was desperate, guilt-stricken and broken and didn't know how I would get my people through the next winter."

Decades later, it still hurt to think of that time. The misery, the shame… _looking into their eyes, seeing the hunger, the hopelessness, the fear…_

"Then you know what you are asking," Ivan stated. Ludwig pushed his own dark memories away and looked up, nodding. Ivan's purple eyes were burning with a strange intensity.

_I am making a deal with the devil, aren't I? Let's just hope Matthew won't hate me for this…_

"I do," he replied.

"There are strings attached," Ivan warned. His face grew troubled. "Is it really that bad? But you would not ask me if it weren't…" He let the sentence trail off, then he squared his shoulder, his face set in a look of grim determination. "Very well. Take me to him. I will do it, and we won't speak of it again. But God have mercy on Alfred, because I, for sure, won't."

"I am not asking you to do anything for Alfred," Ludwig assured him. "I will do what I can for him, and I'll let Arthur do the rest when he arrives."

"I don't want to talk about Alfred," Ivan said, "take me to Matvey."

* * *

><p>Ivan had known Ludwig long enough to know that he did not usually overreact or exaggerate, but in this case he almost wished he had. Ludwig had warned him, and Ivan had thought himself prepared for the worst after those words, but actually seeing Matthew pale and unconscious in a white-sheeted hospital bed shocked him.<p>

Suddenly, it did not matter anymore what had happened and who was responsible for putting him there. _At least it isn't my fault this time_, he thought grimly as he stepped closer. Matthew looked incredibly young and fragile in his forced sleep, and the pallid shade of his skin wasn't particularly reassuring.

Ivan felt a strange lump in his throat. _I would do my utmost to help him, even if Ludwig hadn't asked me, _he realized, _I would do anything, literally __**anything**__, to make him look alive again. To bring back the color to his cheeks, see his eyes open, see him smile._

_Matvey, Matvey, if only you knew…! Russia is utterly smitten with you; and it's been a while since somebody made me feel and act like a lovesick fool. Would you accept America's severed head as a morning gift…?_

He reached out a hand, his fingertips gently brushing a pale cheek. He was dimly aware of Ludwig watching him uneasily from somewhere near the door.

"Tell me about his injuries," he demanded.

"Oh… ähm, two cracked ribs, a nasty concussion, lacerations on the back of his head and a large assortment of bruises."

"I will skin Alfred alive and then crucify him," Ivan said absentmindedly, gently taking one of Matthew's hands between his. It looked quite small, but maybe that was only because his own hands were rather large.

"You would not derive much pleasure from it right now," Ludwig replied drily. "He is worse off than Matthew."

"How so?" Ivan asked. He was not particularly interested in Alfred's plight – even though it was nice to hear that he was suffering -, but he was very curious to hear what had passed between the brothers.

"Matthew sustained his injuries when Alfred was trying to defend himself. _Alfred_ apparentlygot his when his eirenic little brother attacked him and beat the crap out of him. An eyewitness told me that they were playing hockey, just the two of them, a friendly impromptu game without much gear, when all of a sudden, Matthew went berserk. He violently attacked his brother and wouldn't stop until Alfred hit him over the head with a hockey stick – hence the concussion and the lacerations."

"Matvey attacked Alfred…?" Ivan asked, surprised and somewhat impressed. He looked down at Matthew, who still looked fragile, and innocent, and quite incapable of violently attacking anybody, much less his own brother. "I am proud of you," Ivan said softly, "He got what he deserved."

"Don't let Arthur hear you say that," Ludwig cautioned, "He already believes that you have corrupted his little boy, and he is likely to be quite upset about both of them getting injured."

"I couldn't care less. Arthur does _not_ have Matvey's best interests at heart; that much should be obvious by now." Ivan let his gaze travel over Matthew's sleeping form, wondering how to go about his next move without further injuring him. People with head wounds should not be jostled and jolted, he knew that much.

"Leave us," he told Ludwig.

Ludwig hesitated, nervously shuffling his feet. He could almost _feel_ the German's reluctance to leave him alone with Matthew.

_Ludwig is a good guy, _he reminded himself, _he honestly cares about Matvey._

"Don't worry," he said, "I know what I'm doing. It's not the first time."

_And I love this one. I will heal him, not harm him._

"Very well," Ludwig replied with a soft sigh. "But please be careful. I don't have to tell you that it's a huge leap of faith to leave you alone in a room with somebody who is too weak to defend himself, knowing that despite the fact that you are able to form coherent sentences again, you are still boiling with rage within."

"Then jump, Ludwig. Because I am sure as hell not going to leave this room until Matvey opens his eyes and tells me to leave. And you won't accomplish much by sitting on the doorstep and watching my every move. Besides, this is a very private matter. It would be awkward if you were to watch. Go patch up Alfred, so I can take him apart again once I'm done here. You're right; it isn't nearly as much fun with a victim that doesn't move. Kind of like a cat trying to reanimate a dead mouse by throwing it into the air."

"You are not earning any points for sanity and harmlessness by saying such things, you know," Ludwig muttered as he turned to leave.

Ivan ignored the comment and turned his full attention on Matthew, who still lay on the bed, unmoving, looking like a pale, pretty corpse.

"And so it begins," Ivan murmured, bending forward and gently lifting Matthew up, supporting him with both arms, very careful not to move to fast or to put pressure on his injured ribs. Cradling the lithe body in his arms and against his chest, Ivan sat down on the bed, his back against the wall and Matthew in his lap.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, concentrated on the steady, dull throb of his own heartbeat, his old, wayward and often unreliable heart, battered and scarred, but still strong. Matthew's heart beat a bit faster – _well, he is still young –_ but its rhythm was steady. He was hurt, but he wasn't in any real danger. He was already on the route to recovery, and all Ivan had to do was to speed up the process.

He could do that. It would not cost him much. As he held Matthew, listening to his steady heartbeat and the soft in and out of his breath, Ivan reached down into the vibrant, living core that was him, Russia, and the sum of all the lives his people led, their soul, their innermost being, so to speak, all combined to form a great pool of life and energy, the strength that fuelled a nations existence. He took some of that energy and twirled it into a luminous tendril that he wove around Matthew, reddish gold wrapping around the yellowish color of Matthew's own life energy that was a little less bright than it should have been.

The colors merged, there was a brief flash of light, then the tendril had disappeared and Matthew's own energy had resumed a healthier, golden color.

Ivan felt exhaustion seep into his body, felt the loss of what he had shared with Matthew, and a slight dizziness when he opened his eyes. He had lost all sense of time, but judging from the changed light in the room, it had taken a while.

His muscles felt sore. Matthew lay warm and heavy in his arms, a faint rosy color having returned to his cheeks. His breathing was still low, even, but now he was asleep rather than unconscious. Ivan shifted to find a more comfortable position and closed his eyes again, feeling oddly appeased.

Maybe it was just exhaustion from what he had done, but his fury and hatred had quieted down to a dull feeling of annoyance… for the moment at least. He would deal with Alfred, but Alfred seemed very far away right now. Matthew was much closer, warm and soft and cuddly like an oversized plush toy, and Ivan was quite content to stay here and rest for a while.


	19. Washington: Past and Present

_Hi everyone! I apologize for making you wait! As you may have read on my profile page, I'm insanely busy right now, so it took me longer than usual to write this. To make up for that, this chapter is also a bit longer than the last few. I hope you'll enjoy reading it. And a million thanks to everyone who took the time to review! I love reading your comments._

* * *

><p>"Arthur, <em>mon coeur<em>, didn't anybody ever tell you that you are supposed to sit down during takeoff and landing?" Francis asked, sounding faintly amused as he watched his involuntary travel companion pace around like a caged lion. "Sit down. We are almost there."

"Shut up, Francis."

"My, my, aren't we the irritably one…? You know, Arthur, I'm glad I never married you. Your constant bad temper would have made that marriage quite unpleasant, I imagine."

"I am not irritable, I am worried!" Arthur exclaimed, turning around to face him. "How can you be so calm knowing that both Matthew and Alfred have been injured and that Ludwig may be the only thing that stands between Ivan and our sons?"

"Ivan wouldn't hurt Matthew, and I am confident that Ludwig will be able to prevent him from harming Alfred until we arrive. Calm down. There is nothing you can do right now, so you might as well sit down. Hysteria won't help."

Arthur dropped down into the seat beside him, sighing. "You are probably right," he admitted, "but that doesn't make me feel better."

"Oh?" Francis smiled. "Well, don't worry about that, I know several dozen ways to make you feel better…"

"Francis…" Arthur warned. "I'm not about to play games with you."

The Frenchman laughed delightedly, raised a hand and ruffled his hair. "Forget what I said earlier. You are _so_ adorable when you're irritated."

Arthur smacked him. "Idiot." He grudgingly allowed Francis to stroke his pale, slender fingers through his hair, though – after all, there was no way he could have prevented the stupid frog from doing so, none short of breaking his fingers and braiding them together. Francis just couldn't keep his hands to himself, and Arthur figured that as long as they stayed where they were, they could not do much harm. Besides – and he would rather have swallowed a frog's leg than admitted it aloud – it felt rather nice.

"What shall we do with Ivan?" He asked wearily. "He won't just go away, will he?"

"Most problems don't," Francis agreed. "I'm afraid we shall have to face him."

"The idea of fighting with Ivan doesn't exactly thrill me," Arthur admitted.

"Well, it isn't like in the old days, when you would simply gather a group of friends and go to war, is it?" Francis replied, sounding a bit nostalgic. "Ah, the good old days...! _Le temps passe si vite._ Things were so much easier back then."

"For once, I'm inclined to agree with you," Arthur sighed.

"I never thought I'd see the day," Francis teased, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth despite the seriousness of their present situation.

"Oh hush!"

* * *

><p>Warmth was the first thing he felt upon waking up; a comfortable, loving, protective warmth enveloping him like a soft blanket. He sighed contentedly, quite happy to remain in the hazy state of half-awareness that lay between sleep and waking. Apparently, there was no rush. He shifted a little, and realized that somebody was holding him, somebody who now moved to allow him to get more comfortable. He inhaled a whiff of a familiar smell and smiled.<p>

No need to open his eyes, then. He was safe and warm, and nobody would dare to disturb him.

… well, nobody but the only two people in the world who had never had the slightest qualms about interrupting his most personal moments.

It is a universally known fact that parents do not understand the meaning of the word _privacy_ when it comes to their own children. Nor do they accept that everybody grows up eventually and that you cannot treat your adult son like you treated him when he was a teenager, a child or a toddler.

Matthew did not need to open his eyes in order to know that they had entered the room: he heard Arthur when they were still in the hallway, and he smelled the unmistakable fragrance of Francis' cologne when they stepped into the room. Despite his annoyance, he was a bit puzzled by the fact that they actually arrived together. Their strange love-hate relationship was rocky to say the least, and since they rarely agreed on anything, they usually didn't do things together.

It was probably a bad sign that they had decided to show up as a united force, though. They weren't here as Arthur, England, and Francis, France; but as _Arthur and Francis, parents._

He felt Ivan shift, felt him tighten his hold a little.

"Bonjour, Ivan," Francis said evenly, "Ludwig said that it was now tolerably safe to approach you. Besides, it sort of looks as if you had your hands full. So, how is he?"

"Better." Ivan sounded apprehensive and Matthew could hardly blame him.

"If that's the case, would you care to release him?" That was Arthur, and judging from his tone of voice, he was _not amused._

"I would not." Ivan's voice rumbled in his chest and Matthew felt his muscles tense, as if he were preparing for a fight. _Don't provoke him, Arthur_, he thought drowsily, _he might drop me to the floor, and I really don't feel like getting up._

"I insist", Arthur said sharply. "You've done enough damage as it is, Ivan. Now leave him alone."

"Arthur," Francis cut in warningly, "you promised not to make a scene."

"Only because you pressured me - and that was before I walked into this room and found _my son_ in Ivan's arms. I feel like I'm haunted by this picture – lately, whenever I walk into a room and expect to find Matthew, I find him in a compromising position with you, Ivan. Why is that? I think it's time I did something about it. You are to leave him alone, you understand me?"

"Considering that they are both fully dressed, I'd hardly call it compromising," Francis muttered, but his remark was drowned by Ivan's angry retort.

"Who do you think you are, Arthur? You have no right to tell me what to do, and you don't have the power to back up your threats. And where were _you_ when Matvey needed help? Did you come? Did you help him? Did you make any attempt to reign in that crazy American? No! You support Alfred's every whim. It was about time somebody took Matvey's side, and I'm taking it, taking _him_, so back off. He doesn't need your lectures and complaints. If he needed you, he would tell you. He can speak for himself; he is no longer a child. Not yours, and not anybody else's. If anything, he is _mine_ now, because he chose to be."

_Ivan, I want to kiss you!_

Matthew, now fully awake, silently cheered him. Ivan's protectiveness did not come as a great surprise, given his nature, but it still lit a fire deep inside him, and its warmth seemed to spread through his entire body. It was a powerful, overwhelming feeling, the feeling of being loved, of being something someone was willing to fight for. Matthew had just shown the world that he was able and willing to fight his own battles, but it was also nice to have them fought for you.

Unsurprisingly, Arthur did not share his feelings. "How _dare_ you, Ivan," he hissed, and Matthew did not need to open his eyes to see him bristle. "All of this is your fault. Before you came along, we were all living alongside each other quietly and peacefully, as friends and allies, close enough, but minding our own business. I never wanted to get involved in Matthew's private affairs, but you left me no choice. Alfred would _never_ accept any form of alliance between you and another member of the G8, or any other Western country. And you had to know that he would not, that he _could not_ accept an alliance between you and his northern neighbor. It's a matter of self-preservation. If you were trying to provoke him, congratulations to you, you did. But it has to end here. We are already on the verge of another World War, and even if the last two didn't rip the world apart, this one will. And I will not permit you to hurt any of my children. Both Alfred and Matthew were gravely injured, and that was your doing. Maybe you did not inflict the wounds yourself, but Matthew would never have raised his hand against his brother, and Alfred would never have done the harm he did if you had not set them against each other."

Ivan had kept remarkably quiet during Arthur's little monologue, but Matthew felt righteous indignation build up inside him. It wasn't fair! Arthur was wrong, dead wrong, because none of this was Ivan's fault. Alfred had managed to ruin their brotherly relationship, if they had ever truly had one, all by himself. If anything, it was Alfred's fault.

He opened his eyes, ready to tell Arthur where to stick it, but Francis took the wind out of his sails.

"I do agree with Arthur. _Desolé_, Ivan, but he does have a point there."

"No!" Matthew's startled outcry rang through the sudden silence.

_Not you, too, Francis!_

"Well, hello and _bonjour_ to you, too, Mathieu," Francis said, sounding faintly amused despite his serious expression. "Did you sleep well?"

Matthew ignored him. "No!" He repeated emphatically. "You can't lay that one on Ivan's doorstep. Alfred and I fought, because he behaved like the blithering idiot he is and I would not take it any longer. Ivan did not push me, pressure me, brainwash me or even suggest that I should so much as lift a finger. I didn't fight Alfred for him, I fought him for _me_. I will not be ruled by my brother, by my father _or_ by my lover. I am a sovereign nation and I intend to remain one. And by the way, the fact that I'm sleeping with Ivan does not automatically constitute a political alliance. I'm not sure if you're aware of this, Arthur, but diplomacy isn't the only pastime that requires at least two players. One would have thought Francis had taught you that centuries ago."

Francis chuckled at that, but Arthur looked furious.

"Insolence does not become you, Matthew," he said sharply.

"Oh?" Matthew asked coolly. "I'm sure you would like me to be meek, gentle and soft spoken. After all, I'm the one nation everybody constantly seems to forget. I usually don't mind, maybe I even prefer it that way. But I do mind your constant paternalism. I'm not a child anymore, so watch Arthur. Watch and learn."

He turned his intense violet gaze away from Arthur and looked up at Ivan, who was watching him with obvious interest. Ivan quirked an inquisitive brow. _What do you have in mind? _

Matthew smiled, a brief flash of white teeth. He raised his head, looped an arm about Ivan's neck and pulled himself up; then he brought their lips together. It was not a gentle kiss, not an innocent one, either. It was bold, demanding, confident. It startled Ivan and drew an incredulous gasp of indignation from Arthur. Maybe Francis was smiling, but Matthew couldn't see it.

Ivan seemed puzzled, too surprised to react at first. His hesitancy was an unspoken question; _what is the meaning of this?_

Matthew smirked. _This_,_ my dear Ivan_, he thought gleefully, _is me kissing you senseless and teaching Arthur a lesson. Besides, you did earn it. You were marvelous today._

It worked. When Matthew broke the kiss, he was left with a grinning Frenchman and a happy looking Russian – Arthur had left the room in a rush.

Francis stepped closer, drew him away from Ivan and hugged him briefly, before placing a soft kiss on his temple. "You just made my day with that," he said, still grinning, "and I'm very glad to see you awake. I was worried. Maybe I still am."

"Is that why you said you agreed with Arthur?" Matthew asked bitterly.

Francis cocked his head to the side. "Among other things, yes. I agree with him on his general estimation of the situation; but that doesn't mean I approve of his methods. Or Alfred's. Or _yours_, for that matter." He looked at Matthew sternly. "I don't know what Alfred did or said to you, but attacking him with a hockey stick was certainly not the appropriate reply to that. It was a stupid, childish, dangerous thing to do, and I thought better of you. That said, I think that we should all do our utmost to fix this. Fighting this war would mean having to choose between you and Arthur, and I really don't want to face that choice. We might neither of us like the result."

"Arthur?" Ivan asked. "Don't you mean Alfred?"

Francis shook his head. "Bah, Alfred…! For me, it was never about Alfred. He is my ally, and I helped to raise him, but that is about all. Anyway, I think I should go and try to get Arthur off the figurative wall. It will be a unique experience, since I'm usually trying to ruffle his feathers, instead of trying to un-ruffle them. Do be so kind and try not to get yourselves or anybody else killed or otherwise harmed while I'm away." He negligently patted Matthew on the shoulder, then turned around and sauntered out of the room.

Matthew raised his brows. "Well, I suppose it's to describe people like Francis that the word _bipolar_ was invented for," he said after a moment of silence. "What the hell is he playing at? I thought he was on our side; but then it looked as if he was backing Arthur, and in the end he claims that he doesn't want to take sides…?"

Ivan shrugged. "It's not that strange," he said, "Francis has always harbored a soft spot for Arthur, despite their constant fighting. Arthur has been his most beloved enemy for ten centuries, if not more. On the other hand, he has no love for me, even though he may not hate me. I think he's trying to do what he can for you, but when push comes to shove he'll side with Arthur or at best claim neutrality."

"Great," Matthew groaned, leaning his head against Ivan's shoulder. "What's happening to me, Ivan? My life used to be so simple, so delightfully boring. Most of the others didn't even know my name, and a visit from Gilbert was usually the most exciting him to happen in an entire month. Now I'm at odds with my entire family and a considerable part of the rest of the world, and Alfred's probably lying in a bed much like this one with a fractured skull or worse… is he…?" He looked up again, for the first time worried about his brother.

_He deserved it, I hate him, and I'm still really, really mad at him, but he is still my brother… and I didn't mean to go quite that far… I just… lost it, I guess._

"From what Ludwig told me, he was in worse shape than you. You did a good job." Ivan smiled indulgently.

The smile sent unwelcome shivers down Matthew's spine. "No," he disagreed, "I made things worse. And yes, he's an idiot, but he's still my brother and my ally. I may have caused irreparable damage – maybe not to Alfred's thick head, but to our relationship."

"But it did feel good, didn't it?" Ivan insisted.

"Momentarily, but what good is that if it makes me feel horrible afterwards?"

"Are you still in pain?" Ivan asked worriedly.

"That's not what I meant." Matthew sighed. "Never mind, though. I'm too tired and upset to discuss matters of conscience with you. I don't think we'd come to an agreement, anyway."

"Probably not," Ivan agreed. "You are tender-hearted and forgiving; and I am not."

"Don't tell me you think I'm a wimp, too…?" Matthew said with mock horror. Even so, there was a trace of frustration in his voice.

Ivan shook his head. "I know better than anybody else that you are not," he replied softly, "I've watched you sleep in the arms of a monster; I've watched you sleep in _my _arms."

Matthew's stared up at him, up into his serious purple eyes, tinted with regret and a melancholy apology. He swallowed hard. "You are not a monster, Ivan," he whispered.

"No?" Ivan asked quietly. "There are many who would tell you otherwise. And maybe you had better listen to them."

"That's nonsense!"

"Maybe, maybe not. If I were less selfish, I might leave you. But I'm not." He pulled Matthew closer and placed a kiss on top of his head. "No more of this," he said, "not for now. You are tired and still not well, and you should rest."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather have a cup of coffee and take a shower. I have a feeling that Arthur and Francis are going to be back soon, possibly accompanied by others, and I'd rather face them awake than asleep."

"You should rest," Ivan insisted. "I can deal with them."

"You can't fight my battles," Matthew replied fiercely. "I can't let you fight them for me." Then, in a softer tone of voice he added: "You could, however, get me that cup of coffee… please?"

Ivan chuckled. "Imp! I doubt that they'll let you have coffee just yet. Tea, maybe."

"Tea reminds me of Arthur," Matthew complained, frowning.

"I'll make sure to get you a Chinese blend," Ivan promised, dropping his arms to release him.

Matthew slid of the bed and stood, but as soon as he was back on his own feet, the world started to spin. "Uh." Dizzily, he tried to grab onto the bed, but missed. Ivan caught him before he fell.

"Careful," he warned.

"I guess I'm still a bit dizzy."

"Do you want me to help you?"

"Please." Matthew felt safer and steadier with Ivan's arm around his waist, supporting him.

"Shower first and tea later?" Ivan suggested. "I don't think you should be alone in the bathroom until you can walk without stumbling. You might hit your head or worse. I promise I won't look."

"Don't be ridiculous," Matthew huffed, "you've seen me naked before. Come to think of it, you've even seen me in the shower… or rather; you've been there with me."

A dreamy sort of look crossed Ivan's face at the recollection.

"I know what you're thinking," Matthew informed him. "Shame on you, Ivan." And yet he couldn't help but smile.

Ivan walked him into the bathroom and helped him out of his clothes and into the shower. "Actually, this isn't such a bad idea. You look like you could use a shower, too," Matthew remarked. He reached up to touch Ivan's stubbled cheek. "Thanks for taking care of me. You should take care of yourself, too, though."

Ivan made a sound somewhere between a depreciative snort and a laugh. "You are such a sweet child, Matvey. I am more than a thousand years old, and I have spent many a night on a frozen battlefield, surrounded by wounded men, starving men, desperate men. I have lain in chains; I have watched my country fight, burn and rise from the ashes. Compared to that, this is nothing."

"Thanks for reminding me once again that I'm only a puppy to you. To all of you," Matthew replied sourly.

"I do like puppies," Ivan assured him, ruffling his hair.

Matthew frowned. "Everybody likes puppies. Everybody likes to pet them, and cuddle them and baby them. No one ever asks a puppy if it _wants_ to be petted and pampered."

"Well, then maybe the puppy should bite…?" Ivan suggested. He had helped Matthew to get into the shower and was now standing behind him, trying to get the water temperature right.

"I don't think you'd appreciate it if I bit you," Matthew replied gruffly, carefully turning around. "That's too hot, by the way."

"We'll test that theory once you are better," Ivan promised him with a sly grin.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Really, sometimes you're nearly as bad as Francis…!"

"And you are better?" Ivan asked, lazily tracing large circles on his skin with soapy hands and a sponge.

"Point taken. Although I was raised by him, you know. I never had a choice. Other parents make their kids take ballet or music lessons or go to their hockey games and cheer them. _Francis_ attempted to teach me the art of flirtation and went quite a bit farther than the routine bird and bees talk. And when he had taught me all the basics, he set me up with a lovely French courtesan named Aimée, judging that one should always learn from a professional. I thought I'd die from embarrassment."

"I see," Ivan was visibly fighting off a grin. "How old were you?"

Matthew shook his head (a bad idea, since it made him feel even dizzier). "I don't remember. Young. Anyway, my new _teacher_ was a very nice lady. Once she had lured me out of the bathroom with generous amounts of cake and other sweets, we became fast friends. She was older, already in her late thirties or early forties, but she was still very pretty and she always smelled nice. I liked to visit her, but I spent more time listening to her stories and petting her cats than actually taking the kind of lessons Francis wanted me to. He never knew, though." Matthew smiled at the recollection.

"So you lost your virginity to a whore," Ivan stated bluntly. The thought seemed to amuse him.

Matthew shrugged. "Could have been worse, I think. How about you?"

"On the battlefield. He was a comrade in arms. We had just won a battle, and we were drunken with wine and victory. I don't remember much of it, but I do believe he died a few weeks later, in another fight." Ivan shrugged. "It was a very long time ago."

"You learn pretty quickly not to get too attached to a human," Matthew remarked sadly. "It's so horrible when they die, and they always do in the end. Makes life as a nation pretty lonely."

"Luckily, there are others. We are one big happy family," Ivan said drily.

"I'm impressed that you can manage to say that with a straight face. A family… yes. A family with lots of black sheep. A family that's constantly scheming and fighting and backstabbing each other."

"Life would be boring without that." Ivan stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel and held it open for Matthew. "Come. Let's get you dried and back into bed, and then I'll see what I can do about that tea."

"You are such a darling," Matthew said, smiling again. "I think I'll keep you."

"Don't tell the others, especially not your brother. It would ruin my reputation."

"Ah, and we wouldn't want that. Alright. I'll keep it a secret." Matthew wrapped the towel around himself, then got on his tiptoes and brushed his lips lightly against Ivan's. "Thank you. For everything."

* * *

><p><em>mon coeur = literally "my heart"; "my dear" "darling"_

_le temps passe si vite = "(how) time flies"  
><em>

_desolé(e) = in this context: "I'm sorry"  
><em>


	20. Washington: Peace Talks

"Hey there, Francis," Alfred said when he entered the room. He raised his head to look at his visitor and Francis noticed the forced smile, the watery blue eyes.

_Has Alfred been crying? _he wondered. _But no, certainly not, not Alfred. It's not like him. Arthur, maybe, but he sure as hell wouldn't let anyone see… I caught him once or twice, and mon Dieu, was he furious… hélas, so long ago…_

"It's good to see you awake, Alfred," he said, stepping closer. "I hope you aren't in pain."

Arthur, who sat at Alfred's bedside, holding one of his hands, now raised his head and shot Francis a disapproving look.

_What? _Francis thought irritably. After all, he was doing his best to be civil and well-behaved. And it wasn't that easy, mind you.

"It's okay," Alfred said. "So, how is my brother? Assuming that you just came from his room…"

Francis caught a hint of disappointment there and rolled his eyes. _Alfred, you're really such an attention hog! You already have Arthur fawning over you, and somebody has to take Mathieu's side. Somebody besides Russia, that is._

"He's awake," he replied truthfully, "and not very happy, but that was to be expected. He's finally showing some backbone. I guess some people only thrive under pressure, and we've certainly put enough pressure on Mathieu lately."

"Is Ivan with him?" Alfred asked warily.

"Yes, and I don't think that anything short of dropping an atomic bomb on Moscow could get him to leave, so you better learn to deal with it."

Alfred suddenly looked pensive.

"Don't even think about it," Arthur said firmly. "Francis, don't give him any ideas. We've got enough problems on our hands as it is."

Just then, Ludwig walked into the room, looking truly exasperated. "The American president is here, along with half the government. Arthur, could you please come and deal with them? They're not content with me telling them that I can't let them see Alfred. I think it's got something to do with my accent. But they know you, and they respect you… or so I hope."

"Hey, he's my president," Alfred protested, "let me see him. I'm up to it."

"No," Arthur replied shortly, getting up. "You need to rest. Besides, letting your government see you when you're in a weakened state is never a good idea. It usually scares them."

"And if there are some really sick bastards among them, it might give them strange ideas. We don't need another civil war, do we?" Francis added. "Let Arthur deal with them. You can see them and explain things to them once you are well. And once we've determined how to deal with the current crisis. I think it's time to call a meeting, Ludwig."

Ludwig nodded his agreement. "G8?" He asked shortly.

Francis sighed. "I see no other option. A full world meeting would be too chaotic. But all the involved are members of the G8, so…" He shrugged. He did not really like the idea. The G8 consisted of the six nations that were already here, plus Italy and Japan, and therein lay the problem. There would be two opposing blocks – a Russo-Canadian and an Anglo-American alliance, and the other four would have to decide whom to support. Kiku would probably side with Alfred and Arthur, not because he particularly disliked Matthew or Ivan, but because he was quite happy with the status quo and would want to preserve it. Francis thought that he had noticed Ludwig sympathizing with Matthew and Ivan. And since Italy was represented by two siblings, of whom one was pro-American, while the other was pro-Canadian, it would likely remain neutral. All in all, that meant that it would all depend on _his_ vote.

And that was _not_ the position Francis wanted to find himself in.

_I need to get the two Italians to agree on a vote, never mind which side they choose_, he thought. _That, or I need to persuade either Ludwig or Kiku to change sides._

… and he felt like a traitor, thinking that. He did not want to work against Matthew's happiness, but neither did he want to face the choice between his son and the one ex he had never truly gotten over.

_However, leaving it to the United Nations Security Council members to decide, wouldn't help either. Let's see, whom do we have there… that's Alfred, Arthur, Indira and Aaron for the American team and Ivan, Yao, Ludwig and Francisco for the Canadian. I can't say anything about José, so that leaves him… and me. _

_Unless…_

"Ludwig, if it came to a vote, would you consult with Gilbert like Feliciano consults with Romano?" He asked quietly, stepping closer to the German, so Alfred wouldn't hear him.

Ludwig looked slightly bewildered. "I suppose I would… _if_ Gilbert had expressed _any_ interest at all in politics in the last two decades. Since he hasn't, though, it seems somewhat pointless. Besides – I do not think it would be wise to bring Gilbert into this. The only person that he's more possessive about than Matthew is Roderich. He's almost as likely to call for an attack on Ivan as Alfred, especially considering that he hates him with an absolute passion."

"You're probably right," Francis agreed dejectedly. "_Merde!_ I hate this. Why can't they all behave themselves? It feels like the Cold War all over again, except that this time, I'm also caught between my fabulously stubborn ex-lover and my surprisingly obstinate son. I never should have given Ivan my blessing; it would probably have saved me a world of trouble."

Ludwig looked doubtful. "I don't think he needed your blessing, Francis. Ivan doesn't really care about other people's opinion."

Francis sighed. "You're right," he admitted.

* * *

><p>Apparently, Ludwig had been thinking along the same lines as Francis, or maybe he was simply afraid to upset anybody. When Francis walked into the improvised meeting room twenty-six hours later, he found both the members of the G8 and the remaining members of the Security Council. He also noticed Antonio, who had apparently been visiting Romano and decided to simply tag along, and Fidel, who had bravely decided that as one of Ivan's and Matthew's few friends, it was his duty to speak in their defense. His excuse was that he was only delivering Matthew's upset bear to his owner, but Francis could see right through that one. After handing Kumajiro over to Matthew, Fidel hovered close by, eyeing the other nations warily. Under different circumstances, Francis would have laughed at the picture – pale little frowning Matthew, who was fussing over his bear, between the two hulking international bad boys.<p>

Yao walked over and started talking to Ivan in a low, even voice. Whatever he was saying; it did appear to be to Ivan's liking, since he nodded vigorously.

José went to greet his brother in the corner, and they were soon joined by Francisco, forming something like the "Romanic" group. And of course, there was the other group, the Anglo-American one. _Arthur and his little colonies. Très charmant_, Francis thought, feeling faintly disgusted as he watched them.

Luckily, Feliciano chose that very moment to unleash the full force of Italian hurt feelings on Ludwig. "You missed Christmas!" Ludwig stared down at the indignant little Italian, whose face was turning red like his legendary tomato sauce. His look grew even more perplexed when Feliciano raised his fists to hammer them against his chest. "How could you? You promised, Ludwig, _you promised !_ And I was waiting, and you didn't come, and all the gifts, and the food, and… and…" His voice caught, and his huge dark eyes were beginning to fill with tears.

_Ah, Ludwig, I want to see you maneuvering out of that one…!_

"I am very sorry, Feli," Ludwig apologized, "I did not mean to upset you. But with everything that happened, I must have simply forgotten about it."

"_Forgotten?_" Feliciano almost screamed the word. "You don't just forget about Christmas!" _Especially not when you were to spend it with me, and I had special plans_, the look on his face said.

Francis hid a smile behind his hand.

"Maybe you would like to discuss this a bit later and in private?" Kiku suggested tentatively. "I believe we all have some rather urgent matters to attend to."

Judging from Feliciano's expression, there was nothing more urgent to him than his discussion with Ludwig, but his brother nudged him, whispering something in rapid Italian. Feliciano frowned, but let himself be led away towards the group circled around Antonio.

Ludwig, looking decidedly embarrassed by his best friend's (or scratch that and make it would-be-lover's) behavior, decided that it was about time to call for order. Francis watched his fellow nations as they took their places around the table, Matthew and Ivan with Fidel and Yao at their sides at one end, and Arthur and Alfred seated next to Indira and Kiku at the other. In between them were Ludwig, Francisco, Aaron and José on one side and Antonio and the two Italians on the other, plus an empty seat for Francis himself. Sighing softly, he took it, winding up between Feliciano and Kiku.

"Now," Alfred said with obviously forced cheerfulness, "let's get down to business. The one's in favor of…"

"Wait a minute!" Antonio objected. "How about some clarification?"

"You don't get to vote, and you weren't even invited," Arthur reminded him crossly, "why are you here anyway?"

"I second his request," José cut in, shooting Alfred an annoyed look. "I, for one, hardly know why I have been called. I insist on being properly informed regarding the matters at hand, before I vote on _anything_."

"That sounds reasonable," Ludwig quickly agreed. "Well then… how do I word this…?" He looked slightly helpless, obviously not wanting to offend anyone and struggling to put his thoughts into words.

"Allow me," Francis said amiably. "To keep it short and simple, Alfred and Matthew have been experiencing some differences of opinion that recently turned violent. Alfred is of the opinion that Matthew should not be in a relationship with Ivan, and Matthew is of the opinion that it is none of Alfred's business. Am I right?" He looked at them, watching them nod stiffly. "Very well, then. Arthur decided to get involved, since he also thinks that Matthew should not be in a relationship with Ivan, while naturally, Ivan himself thinks that he absolutely should be and that everybody should stop messing with his private affairs, lest he do unspeakable things to them. – Sorry, Ivan I just couldn't resist." Ivan scowled, but Francis decided to ignore the Russian death glare. "Since we've all had the faint thumping of war drums in our ears for a while now, we have reached the conclusion that something has to be done to prevent this crisis from escalating further. It was Ludwig's idea that some sort of agreement could be reached through consulting with both the G8 and the members of the Security Council, and that is why you're here."

"Wait a minute… all the fuss is about Ivan fucking Alfred's brother?" Francisco asked incredulously. "Don't you guys have anything else to worry about? Hell, I don't care what they're doing on their private time, as long as I don't have to watch it! Get a life, people. I'm out of here."

Most of the others looked vaguely amused or embarrassed by his language, and Fidel quietly saluted him.

"Wait, Francisco," Francis cut in, "I'm afraid; it's not quite that simple after all. You see, there are some concerns on the effect this relationship might have on the state of international affairs and the balance of power. Besides, I am sorry to say that Ivan does not have the best track record when it comes to interpersonal relationships, which is why Matthew's friends and family are justly worried."

"Speak for yourself," Fidel muttered.

Francisco shrugged. "I still think that it's none of our business what others are doing in bed." But he sat back down after finishing the sentence.

"I think we should attempt to find some sort of reasonable compromise," Ludwig said, "We don't know yet if and how this might affect international relations. There might be no adverse effects at all, or they might be negligible. Yet I think that it is justified to address and evaluate Arthur's and Alfred's concerns about the impact of this relationship, and about Matthew's personal safety."

"Oh, that is just ridiculous!" Matthew huffed. "I feel perfectly safe, thank you!"

"I am sure you do, chéri" Francis said smoothly, "but you need to understand that others may feel somewhat apprehensive. Especially considering what happened between you and Alfred. I don't know about the others, but that little outburst of yours did nothing to help me overcome my reservations regarding this _aventure galante_, or whatever it is you're having with Ivan. Now, don't get me wrong, if you ask me, there's nothing morally objectionable to it. Still, I do worry. I _raised_ you. You are my child, my friend, my ally. I depend on you and your country, as we all depend on each other these days. I cannot afford to see you wavering or falling."

"Francis, I don't think Matthew is in any imminent danger of becoming a rogue nation," Yao objected.

Francis shrugged. "Probably not. But I have my concerns, and I felt it necessary to voice them." He looked at Matthew intently. "I'm not opposing you, Mathieu. I want to find a reasonable compromise. But compromise means that both sides will have to give in to a certain extent."

Matthew looked sullen and finally turned his gaze away. "I don't see why," he muttered.

"Oh yes, you do," Francis said firmly, before turning his gaze towards Ivan. "Ivan? Are you ready to cut a deal?"

"With Alfred?" Ivan asked, raising his eyebrows. "I think I can say with absolute confidence that hell will freeze over before that's going to happen. I'm not giving him up, Francis. You should know me well enough to know that I never give anything back willingly."

"How about unwillingly?" Alfred asked, glowering. "I'm sure that could be arranged."

"Alfred, hush," Arthur said, "you've caused enough damage as it is. Just keep your big mouth shut for once."

Several astonished gazes turned on him at those words.

"What?" Arthur snapped. "It's true!"

"Oh, absolutely," Francis said, "just a bit surprising, coming from you. I'm proud of you, my love."

"Oh, shut up, frog!"

Francis smiled.

"Ivan, you do realize that Matthew is a sovereign nation, don't you?" Aaron asked, leaning forward. "So there can be no talk about _'giving him up' _or _'back'_. He's not a possession, no territory you invaded and occupied. Besides, so far, nobody has asked the two of you to discontinue your relationship."

"I have," Arthur objected. "But I realize that it's not a demand that is likely to be fulfilled."

"You bet!" Matthew crossed his arms.

"I think you should try to meet somewhere half way," Feliciano said. "After all, that's what compromise means, isn't it?"

"So where exactly is half way between a passionate love affair and _'stay the hell away from my little brother'_?" Antonio asked with a note of good-natured humor in his voice.

"Friends _without_ benefits?" José suggested, smirking.

"I don't think that's a practicable solution," Kiku said, shooting Yao a look from beneath long, dark eyelashes.

"Speaking from past experience, I see," Francis said. "But I agree with you. Any other suggestions?"

"I might have one," Ludwig replied cautiously.

"Well, we're all ears."

Ludwig squared his shoulders, looking as if he was preparing himself for a fight. "Visitation rights."

"What?" Matthew stared at him. "No way! No fucking way! You guys are not turning my private life into a custody case."

"Hush, dear," Francis scolded him. "Let Ludwig finish what he wanted to say. I'm sure he'll explain."

"It's quite simple, actually. Since there is a dispute about whether or not Matthew and Ivan should see each other, I think it would be only prudent to employ a mediator. A guardian, of sorts. It ought to be a nation that both sides trust, preferably someone who has no own interest in the matter and will consequently remain neutral. It would be his or her duty to observe whether or not the terms of the agreement are met and to ensure that all parties behave themselves."

"A chaperone," Francis concluded, "what a charming idea! Pray, do offer the job to Elizaveta, she'd enjoy herself tremendously."

Ludwig frowned. "It was not meant as a joke, Francis. And I don't think Elizaveta would be a likely candidate."

"It's an interesting idea," Arthur said, leaning forward across the table.

"Why am I not surprised…?" Matthew groaned. "Leave it to the two most prude nations of the Western world – with exception of Malta, of course – to come up with an idea like that! I _will not_ have somebody following me around and telling me whether or not I'm allowed to hold hands with Ivan in public!"

Feliciano giggled and pointed a finger at Ludwig. "You should do it, _caro mio_, you are great at stuff like that."

Antonio, Romano and José snorted. Ludwig scowled.

"He does have a point," Francis said, grinning, "and so does Mathieu, I'm afraid. But on the other hand, think of all the fun you could have, shocking Ludwig out of his wits, _chéri_. Being indecent in public can be very entertaining, and some things are even more fun when somebody else is watching you."

"Francis!" Arthur exclaimed, thoroughly scandalized.

"So, Ivan – would you be totally opposed to the idea of a watchdog, who'll ensure that you behave yourself and don't ravage the poor unsuspecting little nation at your side?" Aaron asked, winking.

"I suppose it depends on the details of that arrangement," Ivan said. "And on the nation in question. I could probably live with Ludwig, if I had to, but I don't think it would make either of us happy."

"Well, the goal is not to make you happy, but to keep Mattie safe, isn't it?" Alfred asked acidly. "Ludwig – since it was your suggestion, would you be willing to take the job?"

Ludwig visibly squirmed in his seat. "I'm inclined to agree with Ivan – it would probably work, but it wouldn't make either of us happy. Besides, I've got quite a bit on my plate already. There's the ongoing Euro crisis, there's Greece, and Gilbert…"

"That's true." Francis nodded. "It would probably be a bit too much to handle all at once. So… are there any volunteers?"

"I could do it," Feliciano offered.

"No you couldn't," Ludwig and Romano said at once, then stared at each other, apparently amazed that for once they agreed on something.

"I will not have Ivan in our house, and that's what it would probably boil down to," Romano clarified. "Besides, you're a sappy romantic who would let them do whatever they please."

"Hey, that's not fair!" Feliciano protested.

"It's true, though."

"I could do it," Fidel suggested.

"No way!" Alfred exclaimed.

"Sorry, you're not neutral enough," Indira said, shaking her head. "You're friends with both of them."

"How about Vash?" Arthur suggested.

"He's not here, and I doubt he'd thank you for suggesting it," Ludwig said.

They all looked at each other with varying degrees of annoyance and perplexity.

"I could do it," a quiet, melodious voice announced from somewhere near the door. All heads turned and everybody stared at Roderich.

* * *

><p><em>Notes:<em>

_Indira – India  
>Aaron – South Africa<br>Francisco – Colombia  
>José – Portugal<em>

_The G8 consist of eight nations, namely France, Germany, Italy, Russia, Canada, the United Kingdom, Japan and the USA. The United Nations Security Council consists of five permanent members (France, China, Russia, United Kingdom, USA) and five non-permanent members (currently Colombia, Germany, India, Portugal and South Africa) that are elected for two-year terms._

_merde = shit, crap_

_très charmant = (very) charming_

_chéri =darling_

_caro mio = my dear_

_aventure galante = (here) love affair_


	21. Washington: Deus Ex Machina

Roderich stood by the door, pale, slender and immaculately dressed in a dark blue suit. Lovely as ever, Ivan thought with a touch of annoyance, but then he noticed that the Austrian's light brown hair was tousled and slightly wet and that he looked exhausted and sleep deprived.

And everybody in the room was staring at him.

Antonio was the first to recover. "_Hola, Rodrigo! _What an unexpected pleasure! But then, you always did have a weakness for dramatic appearances… I must say, I find myself sorely tempted to quote Schiller: _'Wer kommt? – Was seh' ich? O ihr guten Geister! Mein Roderich!'_"

To Ivan's surprise, a genuine smile passed across Roderich's lips. "Your memory does you credit, Tonio," he replied, "even if you pronunciation is still atrocious. But I haven't been yours for a long time, and I'm afraid I didn't even come to see you."

"What a shame," Antonio replied with mock sadness, managing to look melancholy for a passing moment, but then grinning again.

"So why did you come?" Arthur asked.

"Charming as ever, Arthur," Roderich said with a hint of irony in his voice. "I came to see your sons. I was told that both Matthew and Alfred had been injured, so I came by to pay them a visit and see if I could do anything for them. I did not expect to meet half the nations of the world here, though."

"Well, you're here now," Aaron said. "And apparently willing to take our current problem off our hands. So I'd say we're fortunate you decided to stop by."

Ivan looked at Roderich, raising his brows. _I would be willing to bet his sudden appearance is no coincidence, _he thought. Roderich was skillfully avoiding his gaze, but Ivan felt certain that there was some sort of hidden scheme behind all this. The only question that remained was whether or not he would be able to use it to his advantage.

He felt a small hand tug at his sleeve, and turning his head met Matthew's confused look. "What's that all about? Roderich coming to visit us? He's never really cared about either me or Alfred. I mean, we get along, but it's not as if we were friends or anything."

"I don't know yet," Ivan replied quietly, "but I intend to find out. All I know is that Roderich has been rather supportive."

"Then they won't let him be our chaperon either," Matthew concluded bitterly.

Ivan shook his head. "I don't think anyone present knows about it."

"Oh." Matthew suddenly smiled, then turned to look at Roderich. "Oh," he repeated thoughtfully, once again meeting Ivan's eyes. "Let's give it a shot, then, shall we?"

"Better him than someone like Vash," Ivan agreed.

"Does anybody present have any objections against accepting Roderich's kind offer?" Francis asked cheerfully.

Arthur, Ivan noticed, was fixing Roderich with a piercing gaze, as if trying to pry the secret of his sudden appearance and unusually generous offer out of him. The Austrian remained impassive, meeting his gaze steadily, his face calm, unconcerned, almost bored. Arthur finally gave up and shrugged, though he did not look entirely convinced of Roderich's harmlessness. "He's neutral, reasonable and has no own interest in the matter. That sounds pretty good to me. Alfred?"

Alfred frowned. "I don't know. It seems a bit… sudden. Shouldn't we talk about this some more?"

Several nations groaned audibly and rolled their eyes. Apparently, quite a few of them were growing rather tired of the entire discussion.

"Just say yes, Alfred," Arthur said, his tone of voice annoyed and sharp enough to cause some raised eyebrows. Arthur frequently snapped at everyone, including Alfred, but they were supposed to be on the same side, weren't they?

"But you said…," Alfred began, his eyes wide with bewilderment.

Arthur shook his head.

"Okay then…" Alfred shrugged, looking a bit helpless, "I guess he'll do. We still need to settle the details of that arrangement, though." He eyed Ivan and Matthew warily.

"All in good time," Arthur said. "Matthew? Ivan?"

"No objections," Matthew said. Ivan nodded in agreement.

"Any other comments or questions? No? Then I guess it's settled. Thank you, Roderich."

"Anytime," Roderich replied pleasantly.

"I propose we interrupt the meeting for lunch and then spend the afternoon drawing up an agreement," Ludwig said. All around the table, the other nations nodded.

"Oh, good!" Feliciano said happily, rubbing his hands together. "Is there any place where we can get pasta close by?"

Ludwig visibly rolled his eyes, but most of the others smiled. "Why don't you come with me, Feli," Alfred said, "let's see if we can manage to find a decent Italian restaurant with a catering service in this city. Shouldn't be too difficult, your people are _everywhere_."

"Great!"

"Don't encourage him, Alfred," Ludwig muttered, but his objection was drowned by the general bustling and clattering as everybody rose from their seats.

* * *

><p>Ivan would have skipped lunch, since he desperately wanted a chance to speak with Matthew alone and <em>in private<em>; but Matthew was still weakened and needed to eat, which left Ivan in a bit of a quandary.

"I'm not really in the mood for pasta," Matthew objected, when Feli eagerly asked him what kind of sauce he preferred. The little Italian stared at him open-mouthed for a minute, then grabbed his hand.

"What are you doing?" Matthew asked.

"Checking your pulse," Feliciano replied, "If you aren't in the mood for pasta, something has got to be wrong. Ve… it does feel a bit faint and your hands are cold. Ivan, make him sit down somewhere comfortable and get him a hot drink and something sweet." He paused; then added with a wink: "And by that I mean food."

A lovely blush spread across Matthew's cheeks.

"Of course you do," Ivan said, his voice colored with amusement. "But I shall heed your advice." He put an arm around Matthew's waist, gently pushing the smaller nation towards the door of the room.

Somewhere in the background, Ivan heard Alfred protest and ask where the hell they thought they were going. Ivan felt his body tense as he instinctively prepared for a fight and tightened his hold on Matthew. Protecting him. Maybe preventing him from escaping, too.

"Leave them be, Alfred," Arthur intervened, his voice tired and resigned.

Ivan relaxed slightly and led Matthew out of the room.

"That's not necessary, Ivan, I can walk on my own," Matthew protested, "I'm fine, really."

"It may not be necessary," Ivan murmured softly, leaning in a bit, so his mouth was close to Matthew's ear, "but I want to. I've been sitting next to you the entire morning, listening to them discuss our future, and I was sorely tempted to jump up and fight everyone who was threatening to take you away from me, but couldn't. Instead, I had to sit still and I wasn't even allowed to touch you."

Matthew was quiet for a long moment, and Ivan waited for him to reply, breathing in his smell, feeling his warmth, intoxicated by his closeness and afraid that he might have been too forward. When Matthew finally replied, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"I like the term _our future_. It sounds positively domestic."

They had reached Matthew's room, and Ivan held the door open for him. "Domestic?" He replied, slightly puzzled.

"Yeah, you know… like we're going to be together for a long time? Like all those things other people do and that you say are silly, but secretly long for yourself…? Buy each other flowers, cook, go on vacation, celebrate anniversaries, sit on the sofa in their pajamas and watch old movies together, buy a house and spent weeks redecorating it…"

Oh. _That._

Ivan looked down at him, into his shining, anxious, hopeful eyes, and swallowed hard. This one was going to be tough, and he really wished Matthew hadn't brought up the subject, because it delved right at a problem that they hadn't discussed so far. But he could not lie to him.

"Matvey…" he said, placing his hands on Matthew's shoulders, holding his gaze, "we _are _going to be together for a long time. I meant what I told Francis earlier; that I was not going to give you up, no matter what happened. And regarding those other things… well, I already got you flowers, and you can have as many as you want. I'll drown your house in sunflowers if you want me to. I suppose we _could_ also cook together, but I'm warning you – I might be tempted to eat you instead."

Matthew giggled, and Ivan allowed himself a brief smile, before continuing seriously: "I don't generally go on vacation, but I see no harm in trying. Same goes for anniversaries. However, you and I both know that your little movie-watching scheme could only end one way – with us on the sofa, but without pajamas, and the movie forgotten. Besides, I don't think we have the same taste in movies. As for actually _living together_ - that is never going to happen. I'm sorry. But you know it's not possible."

Matthew was still looking up at him, those beautiful eyes so very wide, and his lips slightly parted, speechless. It was painful just to look at him, and Ivan suddenly wished he had been a better liar.

He briefly closed his eyes, concentrating. He knew he needed to say something to attenuate the impact his words had had on Matthew, but what _could_ he say?

Suddenly, he felt soft lips on his in a feathery light touch. When he opened his eyes, he found Matthew already pulling back. Ivan looked at him questioningly.

"You know," Matthew said, his voice warm and full of both tenderness and amusement, "sometimes, you are sweet to the point of being cavity inducing. I wasn't being all that serious and I never expected an earnest answer, much less such a detailed one. You make it sound as if I proposed to you. I'm not a fool, Ivan. I know that we're not a normal couple and never will be and that whatever this relationship is, it's never going to follow a Hollywood script. I may hold you to the cooking thing, though, and the vacation bit. We can visit my sister, she'd love that. On second, thought… no, because that would not be a very relaxing vacation. Bonnie is terribly curious. But you are welcome to flood my house with sunflowers anytime you feel like it. I love sunflowers."

Ivan felt his anxiety dissolve into relief and an almost unbearable feeling of affection at hearing that statement. There were no words to express what he felt, so he pulled Matthew close again and kissed him, deeply, passionately, his hands curled into the Canadian's soft hair. It was all he could do to answer Matthew, because words were slippery, treacherous things, and Ivan did not trust them. Besides, he felt that there had already been enough talking, arguing, discussing, evaluating and protesting that day. You can talk a relationship to death, and Alfred and his supporters were certainly doing their best to prepare an early grave for this one.

And Ivan could not let that happen, because he knew with absolute certainty that Matthew was his one and only chance at redemption. Failure was intolerable. Defeat would mean damnation. Surrender was out of the question.

"Feeling better now?" Matthew asked, slightly out of breath when Ivan finally let go of him.

Ivan looked down at him and his lips curved into a full smile, one of the few genuinely cordial ones he ever smiled. "Somewhat."

"Good." Matthew returned the smile, and Ivan felt his heart skip a beat or two. Pulling himself together, because all of this was starting to get ridiculously sappy, and mighty Russia _did not do sappy_, Ivan straightened up and said: "Speaking of cavities… I believe Feliciano told me to get you something to eat. What would you like?"

Matthew shrugged. "Anything with chocolate will do nicely. And I need coffee, but I suppose I won't get any, right? Not yet, anyway." He sighed mournfully. "I could really use some coffee right now."

"Well, then it is fortunate that I brought some," Francis' cheerful voice announced from the door. He was half hidden behind a tray that held three large styrofoam cups and several white cardboard boxes.

Ivan raised his eyebrows. "How long have you been listening at the door?"

"I don't know what you mean," Francis said, sounding affronted. He carefully set down the tray on the bedside table. "Now don't be rude, I just went through a lot of trouble to smuggle that coffee past the nurses."

"God, I love you, Francis!" Matthew said emphatically taking one of the cups and sipping his coffee with a blissful expression that was almost comical.

Francis winked at him. "I know, chéri. Everybody loves me."

"Except Arthur," Ivan remarked drily.

"Oh, Arthur loves me, too, he's just afraid to admit it."

"What's in those?" Matthew asked, pointing at the boxes.

Francis grinned and reached over to open them. "Washington may be one of the most unexciting places in the world, but there's one good thing about it – it is one of the few American cities where one may find a decent _patisserie._ And by decent, I mean French, of course."

"Of course," Matthew said, grinning over the top of his cup. "Ooooh, pain au chocolat, chocolate éclairs and petits fours… why do I get the feeling that you are trying to bribe me, Francis?"

"I would never resort to such mean techniques of persuasion," Francis replied in mock disdain, "however, I am willing to admit that I was hoping to get you in a good mood so you might be a little more… forgiving and compliant, when it comes to defining the terms of that agreement this afternoon."

"Not likely," Matthew said through a mouthful of pain au chocolat, "but keep trying, I like this tactic of yours."

"Try to understand your brother, chéri. He is scared, and like most narrow-minded people he responds to fear with aggression."

"Are you metaphorically calling Alfred a homophobe? That'd be rich, considering that he's sleeping with Arthur."

"I don't think homophobia is the primary issue," Francis said. "No, I think Alfred is scared of the changes your relationship with Ivan might bring on. He resents those changes, because they are unpredictable. And on a deeper level, I believe he's scared of losing you. You have to understand, you are one of his closest friends. His brother, neighbor and ally. He always knew that he could count on you, that he could trust you, no matter what. But what if your relationship with Ivan changes that? Alfred's dislike of Ivan runs very deep. And he may be jealous, too. Somebody is trying to take his little brother away from him, trying to _steal_ him."

"That doesn't give him the right to abduct me or to forbid me to see Ivan. And don't fool yourselves; I do not like the idea of having a chaperone. It makes me feel like a teenage girl of the Victorian Age."

Francis chuckled. "Now that's a lovely sight to imagine! You'd look perfect in one of those adorable little dresses. If you ask him nicely, Roderich might even allow you to wear one; he has been known to put little boys in dresses on occasion."

"For the record: At that time, I assumed that Feliciano was a girl." Roderich said from the door.

"Has knocking suddenly gone out of fashion?" Ivan asked pointedly.

"I do apologize," the Austrian replied. "The door was left ajar, though."

"I presume you are here to shed some light on your mysterious appearance?" Ivan asked.

Roderich nodded. "Among other things, yes. However, I must ask Francis to leave before I do so."

"You do?" Francis asked, looking perplexed.

"I am afraid so. I need a moment with Ivan and Matthew in private. I'll talk to you, Arthur and Alfred later. I need to know where both parties stand, before I can contribute to the effort of finding an agreement that everybody is comfortable with."

"Nicely said," Francis commented, nodding. "In that case, I'll take my leave. Try the éclairs, Mathieu, they are divine." He waved at them and left the room.

Roderich carefully shut the door behind him. "Now," he said, turning back towards Matthew and Ivan. "I am sure you are curious to hear what prompted me to come here."

"I'm guessing it's not a sudden bout of concern for Matthew's and Alfred's wellbeing?" Ivan asked.

"Oh, I was concerned," Roderich said, "though admittedly not concerned enough to leave my comfortable home and rush to Washington. No, the main reason that stands behind my sudden appearance is actually Gilbert."

"Gilbert?" Matthew frowned. "What's he got to do with anything? Is he here, too?"

"Yes, we arrived together. I left him with Ludwig, though, because a ten hour flight with Gilbert is about as much as I can bear. I was sorely tempted to tie him up and gag him."

"Doesn't help much," Ivan said drily. "Believe me, I've tried. The easiest way to shut Gilbert up is hitting him with a syringe full of elephant tranquilizer."

Matthew snorted. "Doesn't sound easy to me. You did that?"

"Once."Ivan looked at Roderich again. "There might be an easier way for you, though", he mused.

"Oh?" Roderich asked, raising his eyebrows. "Pray, tell me. I'm sure I'll have ample opportunity to try it."

Ivan shrugged. "Kiss him. It's the one thing that would probably leave Gilbert speechless, and besides, it is a little difficult to talk when you have somebody else's tongue inside your mouth in addition to your own."

"A sensible plan, but it would leave me with another problem," Roderich said.

"What to do with him afterwards?" Matthew suggested, grinning.

Roderich nodded. "Precisely. I don't want to end up having a fling with Gilbert."

"No?" Ivan asked. "And I always thought you had a thing for him."

"I don't have a_ thing for him_, Ivan, I love him," Roderich stated calmly. "And I don't want to be one of his conquests, because I want him to be mine. Entirely. Exclusively. And preferably forever."

Both Ivan and Matthew stared at him, completely taken aback.

"Well," Ivan said slowly, after he had regained his composure, "that certainly _is_ an interesting bit of news. Why the sudden confession, though? And why did you choose us as your confidants?"

"Because I need your help," Roderich replied bluntly. "Gilbert is as slippery as a freshly caught eel, and the only way to keep him in place is to nail him to a wooden board, metaphorically speaking. Catching him shouldn't be the problem, anyone could do that. But so far, no one has been able to keep him. So I need all the help I can get, if I want my little scheme to succeed. And except Ludwig, you two are the ones who know him best. His best friend and his arch-enemy. Ironic, isn't it?"

"So that is why you decided to become our… guardian," Ivan realized, pleased to have finally solved that puzzle. People who did something for no apparent reason but wanting to help others always made him nervous. He felt that there had to be a motive behind every decision, and he was more comfortable now, knowing what motivated Roderich.

Roderich nodded. "One hand washes the other. You need somebody who is sympathetic to your cause, and I need somebody who is sympathetic to mine."

"That sounds reasonable," Ivan agreed. He looked over at Matthew, who was still staring at Roderich, wide-eyed.

"I can't believe you're in love with _Gilbert_," he blurted out. "I mean… he's always messing with you, and bugging you and playing pranks on you. Sure, he's a funny guy, but that has to be annoying… isn't it?"

Roderich's smile was a bit pained when he replied. "You have no idea. However, Gilbert and I have known each other for a long time, and there is a lot more to our relationship than Gilbert's pranks." He frowned, the added self-depreciatively: "Mainly wars, frustration and an ocean of denial."

"I won't say that I'm capable of understanding why anybody would want Gilbert, but if you want him, be my guest," Ivan said. "If that's what makes you happy… and more importantly, if that's what it'll take to gain your support, so be it."

"I still think it's strange," Matthew added, "but I should like to see Gilbert happy. He has been a bit out of sorts lately. I think it's depressing him that he is no longer a real nation."

A sudden shadow crossed Roderich's face. "I know," he said softly. Then he brushed the shadow away with a forced smile and said: "We should probably head back to the conference room."

Ivan nodded and offered Matthew a hand, but the Canadian hopped off the bed and stretched. "Feliciano was right. I do feel a lot better now."

"Good." Ivan said. "Come." He opened the door to let Matthew and Roderich through, and followed them down the corridor to the conference room.

* * *

><p>Feliciano would later blame it on the pasta sauce, which had been a tad too spicy, but no matter what had happened during lunch, the meeting took a turn for the worse in the afternoon. Many of the nations were tired of the endless discussions and just wanted to get it over with, and as the meeting dragged on, they got more and more annoyed and started snapping at each other.<p>

As per usual, Arthur and Francis were arguing, and so were Alfred and Arthur, and they frequently strayed from the topic at hand, bickering over petty details and old grievances. Feliciano was still mad at Ludwig, who did not seem to understand what the fuss was all about, and Gilbert's presence did nothing to alleviate the growing tensions.

Ivan was close to standing up, grabbing Matthew and leaving the room, when Arthur started to scream at Francis, and was in turn screamed at by Alfred, and Romano started to scream for them to stop. Ludwig hit his fist on the table, but it did not seem to help much.

"Will everybody just fucking shut up?" Gilbert shouted.

"You aren't even supposed to be here, Gilbert!" Alfred shouted back. "So don't you tell us what to do!"

A chorus of angry voices drowned Gilbert's reply, but it didn't matter much, because Gilbert, who had been standing behind Ludwig's chair, was suddenly distracted by having to catch Roderich, who was dropping sideways off his chair. Gilbert and Ludwig caught him in time, but the distraction proved enough to get everybody to gradually quiet down.

"Roddy?" Gilbert asked, sounding puzzled. "Hey, what's the matter with you?"

"Looks like he fainted," Ludwig said.

"People don't just faint like that, West. Especially not when they happen to be nations." Gilbert carefully lowered Roderich to the floor. "He's out cold," he announced.

"Slap his cheeks," Fidel suggested.

"I don't think that'll help much," Ludwig objected, but Gilbert enthusiastically did so. By now, several nations, including Matthew, had gotten up and were moving towards them.

"Is he breathing?" Feliciano asked, his voice high-pitched with concern.

"Yes," Gilbert said.

"We should probably get him out of here," Arthur said.

"Do you want me to help?" Ivan asked, stepping closer and gazing at the unconscious Austrian over the top of Francisco's head.

"You're not touching him!" Gilbert snarled, his red eyes ablaze as he looked up at Ivan. "Back off!"

Ivan raised his hands. "Calm yourself, Gilbert, I was merely offering my help." Curious that Gilbert should be so protective about Roderich, though. Maybe it _was_ a two-sided attraction after all…?

"Give me some space," Ludwig said. "I'm carrying him to one of the bedrooms."

"Meeting adjourned," Arthur said, and it sounded relieved.

* * *

><p><em>What Antonio is quoting is actually one of my favorite plays; Friedrich Schiller's "Don Carlos". Considering that the two main characters are Carlos, prince of Spain, and Rodrigo, Marquis Posa ("Rodrigo" being the Spanish version of Roderich), I thought it very fitting. I'm hinting at whatever form of close relationship Roderich and Antonio had in the past (a marriage or a love affair or something else, I leave that up to your imagination). The quote is from the beginning of Act I, Scene II and translates as follows: "Lo! Who comes here? 'Tis he! O ye kind heavens, My Roderigo!"<em>

_Bonnie = Seychelles_


	22. Washington: Insanity

_I'm back! I'm sorry I made you wait so long, but I'll attempt to make up for it. Just as a warning, the following chapter is rated M with good reason._

* * *

><p>Matthew had awoken to the sound of Francis singing the Marseillaise once or twice; or to Alfred reciting his stupid pledge of allegiance, gazing at his flag as if it was some sort of religious symbol; but this was certainly the first time he was roused by Gilbert singing. It was some kind of war song, not that Matthew understood much of it, considering that the words were all German. It made him realize two things: one, that nobody would ever pay to hear Gilbert sing, and two, that he had forgotten to lock the door. Or… no, not forgotten. Left it ajar, as something of an invitation. Not an invitation to Gilbert, though.<p>

He sat up groggily, blinking. Gilbert noticed the movement and came bounding across the room.

"I hate you for being a morning person," Matthew said.

The Prussian grinned briefly. "Morning? My dear Mattie, it's past five o'clock in the afternoon. I'd say you overslept a little."

"Maple, why didn't anybody wake me?!" Matthew groaned.

"Well, I wanted to, but Arthur wouldn't allow it. He said you only got to bed around nine o'clock and that you needed to rest. So I let you rest."

"Where are the others?" Matthew asked, yawning.

"Most of them left yesterday or during the course of the night. Francis left this morning, Feli and Ludwig around noon. Ivan is gone, too, and thank God for that. Which leaves Roddy, Arthur, Alfred, you and me."

"Ivan _left_?" Matthew asked incredulously. _He never said goodbye. _There was a lump in his throat, cold and hard.

"I believe that was part of the agreement you drafted last night. Alfred could stomach him no longer; he was anxious to see him leave."

"Did he stop by to…?"

"… to kiss your cheek and whisper soft words of parting?" Gilbert finished sarcastically. "No, I'm afraid he didn't. Not that I expected him to do so, mind you. It's Ivan we're talking about, after all." He fixed Matthew with a merciless red-eyed stare. "You didn't think he would, did you?"

Matthew looked down at his hands unhappily.

"Little fool," he heard Gilbert say, his voice not entirely unkind. "I have known Ivan longer than you, and unless he's changed down to the very core of his being, he is not the man you want him to be. Ivan suffered a defeat last night, and he does not deal with disappointment well. They forced him to sign a contract which he deems outrageous and humiliating, and somebody will suffer for that. Maybe Alfred. Maybe you. Maybe somebody entirely unconnected. Right now, though, the bear is crawling back to his lair, to nurse his injured pride."

"Don't talk about him like that," Matthew protested weakly.

"Why not?" Gilbert asked. "It's the truth. Would you rather close your ears to the truth? I bet you would. It will not help you long, though. Ivan is what he is, and nothing you can ever say or do or wish for will change that."

"No. He loves me. He said so himself." _Half a life-time ago, or so it feels, in Tokyo._

Now there was pity in Gilbert's look, and Matthew hated it. "He said so, because he knew it was what you wanted to hear. What you needed to hear. It's all you ever wanted, Mattie, isn't it? To be loved, to be remembered. Ivan knows that. He's very good at finding people's weaknesses."

"Stop it, Gilbert!" Matthew almost cried. "I want to hear no more of it. Don't you have…?"

"… a country to rule? Nope, not anymore." Gilbert smiled bitterly. "But I will leave you to shower and dress now. There's a plane waiting to take you back home."

_But I don't want to go home, _Matthew thought, _not without seeing Ivan once more. Not without hearing him tell me that Gilbert's words are nothing but hateful lies…._

* * *

><p>He was not yet fully dressed when Arthur stepped into the room unannounced. "I'm sorry," he apologized, "I expected you to be still asleep. You looked very exhausted this morning. Are you quite well?"<p>

Actually it was Arthur who looked truly exhausted, purplish shadows lining his heavy-lidded eyes, his face haggard and pale.

"I'm fine," Matthew replied curtly. "What can I do for you?"

Arthur stepped closer, and then hesitated. "Matthew…" he began.

Matthew raised his hand. "If it's an apology, I don't want to hear it. You've caused me enough grief to last well into the next century. I'm not ready to forgive you."

"You have grown harsh, child," Arthur said, shaking his head regretfully.

"Grown some semblance of a backbone, you mean," Matthew replied drily. "It would seem that Ivan is bringing out my good sides."

"Speaking of Ivan…"

"There's nothing more to say," Matthew replied flatly, "our agreement, if you can call it such, is signed and sealed. And surely I don't have to tell you that I am not happy with it. You forced it upon us, leaving us no choice but to accept the terms you set. You and Alfred."

"I believe, Francis had some part in it, too," Arthur said mildly.

"Even so, Francis was a hell of a lot more supportive than you. "

"Maybe," Arthur admitted, "and I'm sure he had his reasons, just as I had mine and Alfred had his. But Matthew, will you not speak with your brother?"

Matthew shook his head. "What for? Alfred knows my position and I know his."

"I believe you made yours clear using a hockey stick," Arthur said, disapproval clearly audible in his voice.

"That's between me and Alfred. There's no need for you to get involved."

"But I am involved. Whether you like it or not. And I'm asking you to make peace with your brother. Alfred is very upset, and I am sure he did not mean everything he said. He has always been rash, and you know how strongly he feels about Ivan."

"Well, bully for him. I feel strongly about Ivan, too." Matthew crossed his arms defiantly.

"I know," Arthur said softly. "As I do about Alfred."

"Are you talking to me as my father, Arthur, or as Alfred's lover?"

Arthur briefly closed his eyes, looking as if he was in pain. "I happen to be both," he said finally.

"Yes I know, and I think that's part of the problem."

"Matthew…"

"You have no right to lecture me about improper relationships, Arthur", Matthew interrupted him furiously. "You've been in one yourself for the past few decades or so. If it's alright for you to sleep with somebody you raised and watched grow up, then it's also okay for me to sleep with Ivan."

"At least Alfred doesn't have a record of violating and torturing his bedmates," Arthur replied drily.

"I am not Poland, and we are not at war," Matthew snapped, his whole body trembling with barely controlled fury. "And it is for me to decide what risks I choose to take. If I decided to climb Mount Everest or to go crocodile hunting with Bruce you wouldn't try to stop me either, would you?"

"I don't think Ambika would let you break your neck mountain climbing and irresponsible as Bruce may be, he hasn't been eaten by a crocodile so far. This discussion is pointless, Matthew. Ivan is a whole different league of dangerous, but you fail to see that. All I can hope for is that you'll see reason _before_ you get hurt."

"Go, Arthur!" Matthew screamed at him, having finally reached his breaking point. "Go, and don't bother to come back anytime soon!"

"As you wish," Arthur said curtly and turned to leave.

* * *

><p>By the time his third visitor arrived, all Matthew really wanted to do was to hug his pet bear and hide his head beneath a pillow, crying. At least this time, there was a knock to warn him.<p>

"Whoever you are, go away!" He called out. "I'm sure I don't want to see you, and much less talk to you so… just go. Go away."

There was a moment of silence, and then the door opened. Matthew whirled around, ready to face the intruder with an angry remark, but the words caught in his throat.

"Are you now," Ivan said in a calm, low voice that sent shivers down his spine. "How very unfortunate." There was an icy smoothness in his voice that did not bear well.

"Ivan," Matthew whispered, not quite trusting his eyes. "They told me you had left…!"

"And you thought I would leave, just like that?" Ivan inquired, still in that same odd tone of voice. He stepped closer, the door soundlessly shutting behind him. Matthew suddenly felt cold for no apparent reason. Something was wrong, very, very wrong, but he could not quite place it.

Ivan stood not two feet away from him, looming over him, his face strangely expressionless.

"I… well I thought that…" But it was no use. Not with Ivan staring down at him like that, his violet eyes dark and fierce. Actually, Matthew was not quite sure what he had thought and he felt that it did not matter now, anyway. All that mattered was Ivan's presence, the overwhelming feeling of his closeness, anticipation rising, the flicker of fear. Something was about to happen, but he knew not what, and instinct told him that he should have been terrified.

That he was not, however, probably said something about his mental state.

Matthew saw the movement coming, but failed to react in time. Or so he told himself, since it was too disturbing to admit that maybe, he did not want to react, to defend himself. Not yet anyway. He was waiting, watching strangely detached and with some sort of morbid fascination, noting the dull thump as his body collided with the wall. The pain searing through his back and most of his torso registered briefly, before there was something else to focus on – Ivan, moving in, pushing him up against the wall, his grip rough, almost brutal, his large hands roaming Matthew's body, not in caresses, but in a sort of greedy possessiveness.

He tilted up Matthew's chin, a firm, determined gesture, claiming his lips; there was no other word for it, invading his mouth, lips, tongue, teeth, everything about the kiss territorial. Matthew gave in. He felt like wax in Ivan's hands, willingly relenting, offering himself to the intruder, the conqueror, the adversary. His compliance did nothing to dim Ivan's ferocity, if anything, it made him wilder still, bolder, more aggressive.

They had no words left, and barely enough air to breathe. Matthew tasted metal, tasted blood as Ivan's teeth graced his lips, his tongue flicking out to lick the drops off as Ivan pulled back. A sudden movement, and then Ivan's lips were on the side of his neck, on the pale, soft flesh of his shoulder, warm against his skin for a moment, until he bit down, hard.

Matthew arched back his head and moaned, but only half of it was pain. The other half was lust, pure and undiluted, a flash of fire burning its way down his spine and right to his groin.

Ivan lifted him up effortlessly, and for a moment he was off the ground, feeling disoriented as he was being jerked around, then Ivan let go of him with a shove that sent him stumbling towards the bed. Matthew felt his knees slam painfully against the wooden frame, he scrambled to pull himself up entirely, but then Ivan was upon him again, pushing him facedown into the soft blankets, his body a solid weight as he sat on top of Matthew. His erection pressed against Matthew's buttocks, hot and hard even through layers of clothing.

Matthew felt light-headed, giddy. He knew then that even if he had stood a chance against Ivan, he would not have fought back.

The cotton cloth gave way with an unpleasant sound as Ivan ripped his shirt apart, then his fingers graced down Matthew's spine, stopping just above the waistband of his jeans. He gave and experimental tug, then his other arm went around Matthew's hip, fingers briefly brushing his crotch, before they found the buttons. He pushed Matthew's pants and boxer shorts down in one swift motion, down to his knees, not farther, and paused to pull back a little. Matthew held his breath in anticipation.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, a calm voice told him that he should have been appalled, that he should have screamed his lungs out, that this would have been rape if only he could have brought himself to struggle. Matthew listened to the voice, the way you listen to the weather forecast predicting rain before you set out for a trip to the beach. The voice shut up or more likely was drowned when Ivan pulled Matthew up and towards him and entered him from behind. Pain and lust sent Matthew's nervous circuits into overdrive, leaving him with a strange feeling of elation.

_This is wrong_, he thought, almost instinctively knowing that those feelings were forbidden, that he was not reacting in a socially approved and expected way to what was essentially a violent attack against both his own person and social conventions. He was supposed to feel like the victim of a violent crime, not like somebody who had just had a religious epiphany. And yet he could not bring himself to act, not with that mixture of pain, adrenaline and ecstasy cursing through his blood, more powerful than any drug. He was strangely numb, but at the same time he had never felt more alive.

He was afloat on a sea of unfamiliar sensations, brighter and more intense than anything he had encountered before. He cried out, his voice strange to his own ears, then came with a shuddering gasp of surprise. He lay panting and helpless, his face pressed into a pillow, feeling Ivan's hands dig into his flesh, leaving bruises, his grip intensifying until he spilled himself inside Matthew and his hold relaxed.

For a moment, time stopped, and they both seemed frozen, then Ivan pulled back, rolled to the side and lay perfectly still next to Matthew but for the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

Matthew watched him from beneath half-closed lids. He probably should have been in pain, but his mind was too preoccupied with other things to focus on that just yet. And there was still some of the elation, some of the delirious excitement left, wrapping him into a deceptively soothing cocoon of afterglow. He knew two things for certain: One, that all the warnings he had heard about his relationship with Ivan, and many of his own fears had just proven true. And two, that he had just had one of the most frighteningly intense, uniquely exhilarating experiences of his life.

Or, to put it in plain words: The best sex he'd ever had.

_God help me_, he thought.

He waited drowsily for Ivan to finally do or say something, to get up, walk away, offer an explanation of any kind or even to attack him; but for what seemed like a very long time, nothing happened. Matthew was beginning to suspect that Ivan had gone to sleep and was unsure whether to feel affronted or incredulous, when a hand was reached out and long, cool fingers brushed the side of his face. It was a tentative touch, and Ivan still wasn't looking at him. His face was buried deeply in a pillow.

"Ivan," Matthew whispered. His voice was strangely hoarse. Wrong, somehow.

Everything seemed wrong.

A string of Russian words, quiet, yet harsh… it sounded suspiciously like a curse. Matthew didn't get the feeling that it was aimed at him, though, mainly because the words were still muffled by the pillow.

Then a tremor ran through Ivan's large body, and he finally moved. Matthew suddenly felt himself be scooped up and cradled in strong arms. Ivan had apparently not lost his penchant for carrying him around like a small child. It was a bit annoying, though, since Matthew would have dearly liked to be able to see his face.

There had to be some sort of explanation.

Ivan carried him to the adjourning bathroom, undressed both of them fully, led Matthew into the shower and turned it on. He did not utter a word, not when he adjusted the water temperature, not when he helped Matthew clean up, not when they both stepped out of the shower and Ivan wrapped a large, fluffy towel around him. Matthew tried to catch his gaze, but Ivan persistently averted his face. Not that Ivan ever behaved anything but odd, but this was beyond odd. It was downright creepy.

"Ivan," Matthew said, still wrapped into the towel, reaching up a hand to touch Ivan's face "talk to me. And look at me when you do."

Ivan finally turned his head. His face was ghastly pale and there was something in his eyes that sent shivers down Matthew's spine. They looked _tormented_. As if something was ripping his soul apart with long, dark claws.

Still not a word, though.

"I will need some sort of explanation before we both go mad," Matthew told him. "Unlike you, I'm not accustomed to insanity. I don't think I could deal with it."

"I… can't." Ivan almost choked out the words, as if every one of them cost him a tremendous effort. "I… no… This was never, _never_ supposed to happen. I can't… God, what have I done? I… no." He violently shook his head, a look of something pretty close to panic on his face.

Matthew was baffled. He had never experienced Ivan insecure or incoherent, and he had never seen anybody go from violent maniac to panic-stricken penitent in such a short period of time. Because that, he realized with a jolt, was what this was all about. Penitence. Remorse. _Guilt._

Ivan was unable to look him in the eyes because he was _ashamed._

"I'm alright," Matthew said, unsure what else to say. It was a lie, and Ivan promptly caught him at it.

"No you're not," he replied, his voice sounding strangely detached, "you need to go and see a doctor, get those bruises treated and see if there are any broken bones, or something else. But most of all, you need to get away from me. Far, far away."

Matthew stared at him. "Are you by any chance channeling Alfred?" He asked in an attempt at gallows humor.

"I am dead serious, Matthew!" Ivan snapped. "Go. Go! Leave me, run, and don't look back. Go and do not come back and maybe you'll make it, even as the others have not, maybe you'll get away, not unscathed but with a wound that will heal in time…"

"Are you out of your mind?" Matthew asked, silently convinced that this had to be the case, because nothing else made sense.

Ivan put a hand on his chest and rudely shoved him towards the bathroom door. "Do you have no sense of self-preservation at all?" He hissed. "Go! Go home, rally your friends and family, and make sure that you don't ever cross my path again or at least not alone and unprotected. I can't promise you that I won't come looking for you, but at least you will be warned…"

Matthew looked at him, hurt, confused, uncomprehending, but Ivan gave him another shove and he stumbled backwards and finally turned.

He did not see Ivan collapse on the bathroom floor, did not see him clutch his chest with both hands, did not see crimson blood spilling out between his fingers, and did not see the old scar break, opening in a fresh wound. Gilbert could have explained to him what was happening; Gilbert who had once seen his own hands wet by the same crimson blood, but Gilbert was already on a plane above the Atlantic Ocean, his sleeping brother's head heavy against his shoulder and Roderich's pale fingers barely brushing his.

Matthew was as alone with his questions and his fears as Ivan was with his demons.

* * *

><p><em>Bruce – Australia<em>

_Ambika - Nepal_


	23. Moscow: Frozen

_Thank you so much for your reviews on the last chapter. I'm glad you are still reading and enjoying this story! I know that I left you with more questions than answers last time, but maybe this chapter will answer some of them. As for the rest - all shall be revealed in time ;) Have fun!_

* * *

><p>Hundreds of lights illuminated Moscow's latest attraction; an exhibition of magnificently carved ice sculptures, some of them delicate as frozen flowers, others towering and huge as icebergs. They were bathed in all colors of the rainbow, some glowing from within, hiding mysterious fountains of light in their crystal depths.<p>

The two tall men walking the park side by side seemed strangely out of place amid this fantastic scenery. They were both wrapped in thick coats, reaching down almost to their knees, dressed in fur lined boots and mittens, hoods drawn over their heads, making them look even larger than they already were. A pale beige scarf stood out eerily against the dark coat of the man to the left.

"Quite remarkable," the other said, stopping to appreciate a particularly life-like display of two running horses. "I should have brought Feli along to see this; he would have been in raptures."

"Next time, maybe?" His companion suggested politely. "They will be here for at least another two or three weeks provided that the weather doesn't change too soon."

"Maybe." The other man shrugged. "You should invite your visitors to see this more often."

Beneath his hood, Ivan smiled wistfully. "There are not that many of them, lately. I do seem to have fallen out of favor with some people."

Ludwig snorted. "It would be far more accurate to say that you never were in their favor. They just feel that now is the appropriate time to remind you of it."

"I'm not particularly bothered by Alfred's inability to behave like a civilized nation rather than a spoilt child," Ivan replied. "And when you get right down to it, Arthur isn't all that cordial with anybody. I told Fidel in no uncertain terms that his place should be on the other side of the fence, and it seems that he listened to me for once. Yao is as politely unreadable as ever and my sisters both love and hate me with equal passion. The two who are bothering me most are Francis and Roderich, to tell you the truth. I can't say whether Francis is angry at me or secretly glad, or maybe both; and as for Roderich… well, I know without a doubt that he is put out with me. I did not honor our agreement, and he does take those things personally."

"And what sort of agreement was that?" Ludwig asked, a faint suspicion in his voice.

"I don't think that Roderich would want me to tell you."

"It does not, by any chance, involve my troublesome brother…?" He let the sentence trail off meaningfully.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Ivan asked with feigned surprise.

"Oh… just an odd feeling. There's something brewing between Roderich and Gilbert, and I'm not entirely sure I like it."

"Ludwig, there has been something brewing between your brother and Roderich since the first time they met on a battlefield, so you really shouldn't be surprised. I don't think that Gilbert is in any danger, emotional or otherwise."

"Roderich might be, though."

"He knows better than anyone else what he's dealing with, and he is nothing if not careful."

Ludwig's reply was a noncommittal hum, but he still seemed concerned.

"You worry too much about others, my friend," Ivan said.

"Ah, yes. A major flaw of character, I suppose." Ludwig shrugged, before turning to face Ivan. "Speaking of others, though… have you had any word from Matthew?"

Ivan's expression darkened instantly, his odd purple eyes narrowing as a warning sign. "No, nor do I wish to hear from him. Though admittedly it has been difficult to ignore him, since he has exhausted every method of communication known to man trying to contact me. Can you imagine; I even received one note by bird. A dove, I believe."

"What did you do with it?" Ludwig asked.

"Why… I used it for target practice."

"I don't understand," Ludwig said, consternation obvious on his face, "why do you torment that poor boy? I thought you cared about him."

"I'm not tormenting him, I'm protecting him," Ivan replied, his voice harsh. "I care about him, so I want him to be safe. The concept shouldn't be that hard to understand."

"But why after patiently wooing him for years, why after fighting so hard to keep him, are you pushing him away now? Matthew doesn't understand, Ivan, and he's desperate."

"Oh, he understands," Ivan said with a wistful smile, "he is quite clever. He just refuses to accept it."

"Yes, and it's a heartbreaking sight." Ludwig shook his head. "I am starting to believe that Alfred and Arthur were right and that we should never have let you toy with him."

"Toy?" Ivan hissed between clenched teeth. "Say what you will about me, and I did a great many wrongs to him, but I _never_ toyed with him." He nearly trembled with the effort to contain his rage, which was to a large extent fuelled by frustration that once more, he had failed. Though not completely, he thought with a bitter note of satisfaction. Not this time. Matthew might be unhappy with him now, but at least he was safe. And that was all that mattered.

But Ludwig did not seem to understand.

"Look," Ivan said wearily, "if somebody or something threatened to hurt Gilbert, or Feliciano, or even Roderich, since I know that you love him like a second brother; would you not try to protect them?"

"Of course," Ludwig replied, without a moment's hesitation, "but I don't see how that…"

"And who do you think," Ivan interrupted him, his voice the soft touch of a cotton cloth polishing steel, "is the greatest threat to Matthew's safety and wellbeing?"

Ludwig looked troubled then.

"You don't need to answer that. We both know," Ivan said, with the sort of finality that did not leave room for further questions. "I am. So I removed myself from the equation. I'm gone, he is safe; it's as simple as that."

Ludwig remained silent for a long moment, considering this. "But you seemed so happy this time. I thought that maybe he was different, that _you_ were different this time… things change, and so do people, so why should we not change, too? Why should you not get a second chance?"

"Ah, but you forget that he wasn't my _second_ chance, Ludwig. There had been too many others before him. And once again, I failed." Ivan reached out for a delicately carven flower that was part of an entire bouquet and crushed it between his gloved fingers.

"What happened?"

"Same as before. I lost control, I hurt him. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"I find that hard to believe. I've met Matthew thrice during the past five weeks and while he did not seem very happy, he always appeared to be in excellent physical health."

"You know nothing, Ludwig," Ivan said with a bitter smile. "So let's leave it at that. Trust me, it is better this way."

* * *

><p>Ivan sat alone in his study, his arms resting on the massive wooden desk, a cup of tea within comfortable reach, listening to the merciless ticking of the old-fashioned clock. It was late, he knew it was late, but sleep would not come to him, had eluded him for so many nights now, and when it came it only brought the darkest dreams.<p>

_If I could at least dream of him_, he thought, _that might be a comfort. But it is only war and death and blood and ruin in my dreams… I never once see his smile or hear his laughter… and I never will again. He may not understand yet, but in time, he will come to hate me. They all have learned to despise me in the end…_

He vividly recalled the look on Toris' face, the look he always wore when they met these days, a mixture of fear and suspicion and disgust.

_And yet he loved me once. There was a moment, that one brief, passing moment, when Toris loved me and trusted me. But I ruined his trust and murdered his love, and now all that is left is bitterness and fear._

_And Feliks…_

… _Gilbert. Well, Gilbert never loved me, but he was my close companion for so many years. Like the brother I took from him… oh and how he must hate me now! He cares about Matthew, they are good friends…_

He never allowed himself to think of him as _Matvey_ anymore; the name was too intimate now, a name for a lover he had lost, not the name of the boy he had tried to save.

_And did I save him? _He wondered. _Was it not too late?_

The thought haunted him. The thought that all his efforts, all his struggles, his pain and humiliation should have been in vain…!

He missed Matthew terribly, missed him with such intensity that the feeling resembled a constant dull pain in his chest, clawing at his battered heart. He missed everything, Matthew's shy smiles and his quiet voice, the scent of his body, the warmth of his laughter, his kisses, his embraces, his childish trust and hopefulness.

At times, in the dark hours of the night, the yearning became too strong, and Ivan would bite into his pillows rather than cry out with helpless frustration and rage. He told himself that he could do this, that he had to do this, for Matthew, that he was strong enough; but it felt like the hardest decision he had ever made.

He tried to distract himself with work, vigorously tackling long unresolved problems, but it was no use. He loved his people and his country, but they could not take his feelings for Matthew away, nor the pain, nor the shame.

The others were watching him warily, like one watches a wounded beast, waiting for it to crawl out of its lair and attack. Roderich had spent hours talking to him in that earnest, quiet tone of voice one uses with prisoners and mental patients, trying to convince him that this was not the solution to his problems, but Ivan had remained adamant.

Both of his sisters had come to visit him, trying to distract him and to lift his spirits, bringing him home-made food, little gifts and sunflowers. Natalia had subjected him to fervent embraces, peppering his face with kisses, but he had remained cold and immobile. She wasn't what he wanted, who he wanted, and they both knew it.

"Wanja," Katyusha had said in that grave, gentle tone of voice he remembered so well from his youth, taking his large hands into her delicate ones. "Wanja, you are hurting yourself."

"It's better to hurt myself than him," Ivan had told her with firmness that was bordering on insanity. It was the only thought he held onto, the only thing that kept him going.

"But you are hurting him, too," she had objected. "How could he understand why you are doing this? He does not know you like I do, Wanja. I understand your reasons, and I can see that they are good, noble even, accepting this pain because you are afraid to hurt _him_, but I have known you for so long."

"It's no use, Ekaterina," he had told her, for once using her full name. "I have made my decision and I will not be persuaded otherwise. I _need_ to keep him safe. It's the only thing that matters now."

Staring at his own face reflected dimly in the brown liquid of his tea, Ivan frowned. Katyusha said that she understood him, but in truth, she did not. She did not realize that there really was only one way that he could show his love and appreciation, that he had only one thing to offer now and only one sacrifice to make.

And if it tore him apart, so be it. He was weary of this life of failure and self-loathing.


	24. Vancouver and Innsbruck: Heartbroken

"Look who's here, Matteo," Fidel said in a forcefully cheerful voice as he showed the latest visitor into the room.

"I don't care who it is, I don't want to see anybody," Matthew grumbled. He lay on the sofa by the window, his face resting on his crossed arms. "Why can't you just leave me alone? All of you!"

"Now, now," Francis, who sat perched on the armrest of the sofa, said, running a hand through his son's already tussled hair. "Don't be mean. We all love you and we are here because we enjoy your company." It probably took all of Francis' considerable acting skills to say that with a straight face. Matthew himself knew best of all that his company was about the last thing anybody could wish for, given that he spent his days slipping from one dark mood into the other.

"No you don't," he sniffed.

"Yes, we do," Fidel insisted. "And you are behaving like a crybaby again. If Alfred could see you, he would laugh so loud that one could hear it all the way to La Habana!"

"I don't care about Alfred. I hate him. I don't want to see him."

"And you don't have to," Francis said soothingly. "But maybe you could make an effort and say hello to Roderich? He came all the way from Vienna to see you."

That finally caught Matthew's attention and he slowly raised his head. And true enough, he found the Austrian standing next to Francis – at a safe distance, of course – looking down at him solemnly. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but his eyes seemed lighter than usual. As far as Matthew remembered, Roderich's eyes had always been a bluish-violet color, rather dark actually; but now they seemed to have taken on a different tone… it was almost magenta, and it looked somewhat eerie. But maybe it was just a figment of his imagination – he had been seeing all kinds of strange things and visions lately. Lack of sleep and a desperate state of mind would do that to you.

"Hello Matthew," Roderich said evenly.

"Hi," Matthew replied, unsure what more to say. After all, it wasn't Roderich's fault that he reminded him of Ivan. _Everything_ did, lately. He remembered that Roderich had fainted at the conference, but he seemed healthy enough now. "How are you?"

"I am fine, thank you." Roderich was still looking down at him, his face serious and kind. He wisely refrained from asking the return question. "I have come to take you with me, actually."

A spark of hope sprang up in Matthew's mind and he sat up so suddenly that his head began to spin. "Oh!" He breathed. "To Moscow…?" Roderich _was_ their chaperone after all.

A shadow crossed Roderich's handsome face and Matthew was pretty sure that it was pity. "No, I am afraid not. Ivan is even more adamant than you when it comes to not wanting to receive any visitors. I am told that he saw Ludwig last week, but that was strictly business."

Matthew felt hot tears starting to well up in his eyes and he could not hold them back. "But why…? I don't understand, Roderich…! Why would he refuse to see me? Why does he not take my calls or answer my letters…?" He swallowed hard. "He can't just suddenly hate me, can he?"

"Matthew, I am sure Ivan doesn't hate you," Roderich said seriously. "His behavior is a mystery to me, too, and that's part of the reason why I've come."

Matthew looked up at him questioningly.

"With your permission, I am going to take you to Innsbruck."

"What's in Innsbruck?"

"Not what, _who_. Gilbert. Gilbert is in Innsbruck. At least he was when I left yesterday, and I'm hoping he kept his promise and stayed put. But since I have Elizaveta watching him with her frying pan at the ready, I don't think that he could have strayed very far."

The thought of Elizaveta chasing Gilbert through the living room of Roderich's house in Innsbruck, swinging her frying pan put a brief smile on Matthew's tear-stained face. "But what does Gilbert have to do with anything?" He asked.

"I am hoping that he could help to shed some light on Ivan's mysterious behavior. After all, he lived with him for some decades."

"But Gilbert _never_ talks about his time with Ivan," Matthew objected. "Whatever happened back then, he refuses to talk about it."

"Yes, well Gilbert has refused to do a lot of things that he was then made to do in the end," Roderich replied with an odd inflexion in his voice. "And if anyone can get him to talk, it's me."

"You are right about that, mon ami," Francis said merrily, his eyes sparkling as he leant in. "So tell me – what kind of carrot stick are you dangling in front of his face?"

Roderich shot him a disapproving look. "That's between Gilbert and me, Francis. In any case, it's probably not what you're thinking. And even if it were, it would be none of your business."

"Okay, somebody get me a camera, this is a historical moment!" Francis said, excitedly clapping his hands. "I just got Roderich to almost admit that he's sleeping with Gilbert!"

"You did?" Matthew asked, wondering what he had missed just then.

"Oh, hush, Francis! I am not sleeping with Gilbert," Roderich objected irritably.

"Well, you should."

"Forgive me if I don't take romantic advice from _you_," Roderich replied, his lip curling depreciatively. He turned back to Matthew. "So what do you say? Are you coming to Innsbruck with me?"

Matthew would have travelled to the far end of the universe if there had been even the slightest chance that it would lead him to understand Ivan's behavior towards him.

"Yes."

* * *

><p>It was early February and Innsbruck was covered in about half a meter of snow, looking pretty, sleepy and picturesque. Matthew half expected somebody to turn up at the airport in a sledge drawn by two large Haflinger horses, their bridles hung with tiny silver bells. Instead, one of Roderich's drivers picked them up and drove them into town in a shiny black limousine, silently and efficiently.<p>

Roderich's house here was smaller than the one in Vienna, and furnished in a somewhat simpler fashion that made it look quaint and cozy. A maid took their coats away and Roderich asked her about his guests. She pointed upstairs and he nodded.

On the stairs, Roderich suddenly stopped and cocked his head to the side, listening intently. It took Matthew's untrained ears a moment to pick up the sound that had startled his host, but then he realized that it was music. And apparently, there wasn't supposed to be any music in the house while Roderich was away.

He carefully climbed the next flight of steps, and Matthew followed him, curiously. "What…?" He began, but Roderich hushed him immediately, shaking his head. The sounds were those of a flute, coming from a room at the end of the second floor's long, dimly lit hallway. Roderich approached the room with care; then stopped right in front of the door.

"What is it?" Matthew asked again, but this time Roderich misunderstood him.

"Johann Sebastian Bach," he said quietly, "the trio sonata from his _Musical Offering_, or rather, the flute part."

It sounded pretty enough, but Matthew still didn't understand what the big deal was. Surely Roderich had heard this particular piece of music a dozen, if not a hundred times, and played by the best musicians of their day. However… "Who is playing?"

Roderich turned slightly to look at him, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Gilbert."

"Ah…" Matthew had always thought it strange that beneath Gilbert's rough, cynical exterior hid another, entirely different personality, the personality of a man who was intelligent, educated and refined, who loved and respected the arts, a keen collector of artwork and a musician himself. And now he understood why Roderich was surprised… as far as he knew, Gilbert had not played his flute since the day Prussia had been formally dissolved.

"Can we go inside?"

Roderich hesitated, his hand hovering above the doorknob. "Matthew," he said quietly, and there was real anguish in his voice, "he never played for me…"

Matthew did not know what to reply to that, but the look on Roderich's face made him shiver.

_Do I look like that when I think about Ivan now?_ He wondered. But then Roderich opened the door and ahead of them lay a sunlit room with large windows. Beneath one of the windows stood a beautiful harpsichord, its woodwork a piece of art in itself. Elizaveta sat on the low stool in front of it, wearing a dark red winter dress, her hair tumbling down her back in luxurious brown curls and close by stood Gilbert, his eyes closed in concentration as he played the piece from memory alone.

Elizaveta looked up, startled at the sound of their footsteps, turning her head and smiling when she saw Roderich. There was still the warmth of affection in her eyes when she looked at him, Matthew noticed, even after so many years they had spent apart.

_They are friends now, but she loved him once. They were a couple._ It was hard to imagine now, especially considering the way Roderich behaved around Gilbert.

The music stopped abruptly as Gilbert's strange red eyes flew open. He lowered the flute in his hands, looking startled and self-conscious for a moment.

"Do not stop on my account," Roderich said softly, "I had not heard that particular piece in a long time, and I dare say it would have sounded sweet even in Friedrich's ears… and he was such a terrible perfectionist…"

A brief smile flashed across Gilbert's face as he remembered his favorite king. "That he was," he agreed.

"Maria Theresia hated him with an absolute passion, but I cannot say that I ever felt the same," Roderich said, approaching slowly, "he was rather difficult, to be sure, but most great men are. And he was a very able musician, too." He paused, gazing at Gilbert steadily and solemnly. "I didn't know you had begun to play again."

Gilbert shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Your _cembalo_ there brought up memories… it is a beautiful instrument. It's a pity nobody plays them anymore."

"I play," Roderich said, his gaze never leaving Gilbert's face.

Elizaveta coughed politely. "Okay, boys – as sweet as it is to watch the two of you dance around each other, could you please wrap things up? I have a country to take care of. So either tell Mattie and me to leave and to come back in a few hours, or behave yourselves."

Blood rose to Roderich's cheeks, painting them a lovely shade of pink. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe to protest Elizaveta's assumption, but apparently thought better of it. Matthew couldn't see if Gilbert was blushing, too, since he busied himself putting away his flute. It would not have surprised him all that much, though.

When he straightened up after carefully placing his flute in its wooden box, Gilbert's eyes darted towards Roderich for the briefest of moments, but when he realized that the Austrian was purposefully avoiding his gaze, his face became stony and unreadable once again. Matthew had no way to be sure, since Gilbert wasn't big on showing his emotions, but he had the distinct feeling that this was what it looked like when his friend was hurt.

"So Mattie…" Gilbert begun, "how did Roddy manage to drag you out of your lair? Did he promise you an unlimited supply of pancakes or what?"

"No, but that would have been my backup plan," Roderich said, a hint of amusement coloring his voice as he looked at Matthew from the side.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. It's Alfred who's the glutton, not me. I just happen to like pancakes. And if I recall, you do, too."

"_Palatschinken_," Elizaveta said with a thoughtful smile, "I've always loved to say that; it's such a funny word."

"Don't insult my language," Roderich chided.

Gilbert snorted. "It's not a language, Roddy, it's a dialect, if anything. And some of the words you use are really rather ridiculous."

"This from the man who prefers French to his own native tongue?" Roderich asked mildly.

"I most certainly do not! That was just… you know, a phase."

"Ah yes. Your French phase. Just like your Russian phase, no?"

Gilbert's red eyes narrowed dangerously. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked indignantly.

"Let's all sit down and talk about Ivan for a little while, shall we?" Roderich asked pleasantly.

"Hell, no. I don't want to talk about Ivan. There's no reason to talk about the bastard," Gilbert flared, then his eyes darted over to Matthew. "Has this got anything to do with you? Because I'm warning you, if it does, I'm gonna take it personally. Me discussing Ivan with _Roderich_, of all people, is so not gonna happen." He turned his burning gaze back on the Austrian. "And I told you that twenty years ago, ten years ago; and I'm telling you now. There's _nothing_ to talk about. Nothing whatsoever."

Matthew was startled by Gilbert's violent reaction. He had expected an offhand joke or a few snide remarks, but certainly not this. This was personal, and it did seem as if Roderich had hit a little close to home. Which only made whatever Gilbert was trying to keep from them all the more interesting…

"Gilbert, maybe you could put your own sensitivities aside for the moment. I'm not asking out of mere curiosity. There's something going on that I don't understand, that none of us understands, and maybe you are the only person who can shed some light on the matter." Roderich sounded oh-so calm and reasonable, seemingly unperturbed by Gilbert's outbreak.

"If this is about Ivan doing whatever it is he did to Matthew, I'm the wrong person to ask. Go ask Toris or Feliks, they're both experts on the subject." Gilbert shook his head. "And I warned you," he added, turning back towards Matthew. "I told you that this was a very, very bad idea, right from the start. But you wouldn't listen."

"Maple, how often do I have to tell you, all of you, that he did _nothing_ to me?!" Matthew cried in exasperation. "I'm almost starting to wish he had, then at least I could hold a grudge or even hate him. As it is, I'm left wondering what the heck has gotten into him."

"What do you mean?" Elizaveta suddenly cut in, a frown on her pretty face. "What is he doing?"

"Nothing at all and that's part of the problem. He's holed up in Moscow and persistently ignoring all my attempts to contact him."

"Well, have you given him any reason to do so? Ivan may seem rather sedate these days, but in his moods, he is unpredictable like a child. He is easily upset, and his wrath is a terrible thing." She paused, her frown deepening. "However, I do not think that he would refuse to talk to you if he were mad at you. Usually, when Ivan is angry at somebody, he lets the other person know… one way or the other."

"I've done nothing to him… I think," Matthew said. He had agonized over that question for days, even weeks, only to come to the conclusion that if he had said or done anything to upset Ivan, it had been done unintentionally and he still did not know what it had been.

"Tell me what happened," Elizaveta said.

Matthew gulped. Tell her what had happened? Thanks, but no thanks… he had not told anybody about that fateful last meeting with Ivan, and he was not eager to do so now.

_They would be appalled if they knew. It's not somehing I can share with anyone. It's a guilty secret… mine and Ivan's…_

He shook his head. "I don't think I can. I don't know what happened. All I know is that Ivan sent me away and told me never to come back again. And that he looked quite mad when he did it. He said that I had no sense of self-preservation and that I needed to get as far away from him as I possibly could."

Gilbert snorted. "Well, he's right about that at least."

"It makes no sense, though," Roderich said. "Ivan spent a fair amount of time and effort courting Matthew, and when he finally gets what he wants, he willingly gives it up? I find that hard to believe. Ivan has never given up anything that was his without a fight."

"Ah – I do believe he sold Alaska to Alfred," Matthew put in, "but I suppose he had a reason for that. There's no reason for letting go of me, though, especially not against my will."

"Maybe your willingness was beginning to bore him," Gilbert said spitefully, "Ivan has been known to prefer those who are _unwilling_."

"Oh, shut up Gilbert, if you have nothing useful to say!" Matthew glared at the Prussian. Gilbert was beginning to seriously annoy him.

"That'll do," Roderich said sternly, "you will accomplish nothing by snapping at each other."

"So Ivan _told_ you to leave?" Elizaveta asked thoughtfully. "And he told you to get away from him? That's odd. We all entertained our doubts about you and him and we feared you would get hurt, but I never knew Ivan feared the same… I never thought he was that… self-aware. He still reminds me of a big child… his cruelty is that of a child, curious, uninhibited and free of any moral concerns. And he seems very naïve, sometimes. He wants people to love him, he wants people to fear him, maybe both at the same time, but he does not understand them very well. And I didn't think he understood himself… maybe I underestimated him."

"Paradoxical behavior isn't exactly uncommon with Ivan," Gilbert said, a harsh undertone of bitterness in his voice. "He'd save your life only to tear it to shreds later on. He'd beat somebody to pulp and then help them get up and heal them. He has done it a hundred times with his puppet states, his toys… Toris and Feliks and all the others. He would hurt them badly and then heal them himself and shower them with gifts and affection, and hurt them again; it was like a vicious cycle. And he has already begun to do the same to you, Mattie. He was the one who got you hurt, even though it was Alfred who raised his hand against you; then Ivan rushed to Washington and healed you. And whatever happened between you and him there, after the conference, I'm sure it left you with more than a few bruises. So now would be the time for Ivan to try and make amends to you… have you received any gifts lately?"

Matthew shook his head. "No, I already told you: he's ignoring me."

"Huh," Gilbert said, eyeing him as if he did not quite believe him. "Curious."

"Maybe Ivan is trying to break the pattern?" Elizaveta suggested.

"He has tried that before, and you and I both know that it hasn't worked."

"Well, he gave us back our freedom in the end, did he not?"

Gilbert shook his head. "Only because he had to. Ivan was weakened when he signed the Two Plus Four Agreement. He had little choice. And let me add that in my case, signing that treaty did not mean giving me freedom, but killing me."

"You seem very alive for a dead man," Matthew said drily.

"I don't owe that to Ivan, though. You all expected me to die, didn't you? If not in 1948, then in 1990. Well, I did not. I guess I am a freak of nature or something."

"You aren't," Roderich said with quiet conviction.

Gilbert turned to face him, a cynical smile on his face. "I'm the personification of a nation that no longer exists. What do you think I am, Roddy?"

"The point is," Elizaveta interrupted them, before Roderich got a chance to answer, "Does the fact that Ivan sent Matthew away to comparative safety mean that he is trying to change his ways?"

"I wish I could believe that," Gilbert said, "for Mattie's sake, if nothing else. But I can't. I know Ivan well enough. Okay, maybe he's trying… but he'll fail. He cannot change who he is, what he is… I have seen it happen before. Ivan would try, would try so hard, or at least that's what he wanted us to believe. But in the end, there was always another broken body, another broken soul. Ivan _loved_ Toris, in his way; and I believe he also loved Feliks. That didn't save them, or him, though." He began to pace the room, looking agitated. Gilbert could never sit or stand still for long, least of all when he was upset about something. Matthew watched him curiously. Despite himself, Gilbert had already told them much more about Ivan than he had wanted to say.

"Where does that leave us, though?" Elizaveta asked. "If Ivan cannot change who he is, what will stop him from doing the same things to Matthew that he did to the others?"

"Maybe he's stopping himself," Roderich suggested, "he does seem to be making a valiant effort to do so."

"He'll fail," Gilbert said darkly.

Roderich shook his head. "Do not underestimate the power of love and conviction, especially when they are joined by a guilty conscience."

"Speaking from personal experience, my love?" Elizaveta said, raising a dark eyebrow.

"Perhaps…"

"This is all very well," Matthew said, "but what am _I_ supposed to do now?"

"Take Ivan's advice and run from him?" Gilbert suggested. "It seems pretty reasonable to me."

"That's not an option, you idiot. I can just go on with my life like nothing happened. I love him. You don't just suddenly stop loving somebody because it's the _reasonable_ thing to do."

"I agree," Roderich said, "I think we should pay Ivan a visit."

"Are you nuts?!" Gilbert asked angrily. "Didn't you hear what I said before? He'll tear you both to shreds, if he's in one of his moods. Maybe he'll feel bad about it afterwards, but how will that help you?"

"You should not go alone," Elizaveta said. "Gilbert is right. Ivan is a very dangerous beast when cornered."

"Well, I'm going," Matthew said, crossing his arms. "You're welcome to accompany me, if you feel that it's necessary."

"I will go with you," Roderich said.

"You will do no such thing," Gilbert stated, "I'll tie both of you to your respective bedposts, if I have to."

"Oooh, kinky," Elizaveta said with a sly grin. "Can I watch?"

"I'm serious!" Gilbert snarled, but he was staring straight at Roderich. "I will not let you walk into the lion's den to be eaten. You have never been a warrior, and frankly, you have no idea how to deal with Ivan."

"I remember us fighting quite a few wars against each other," Roderich said complacently, "and I did not lose all of them."

"I am not Ivan," Gilbert insisted. "He is way out of your league. He'll squish you like a bug, if need be, and then what?"

"I suppose then I'd be squished," Roderich said with a perfectly straight face, but there was amusement sparkling in his eyes. _He's enjoying Gilbert' s show of protectiveness_, Matthew thought, _and maybe this is a bit of payback for all the times Gilbert has driven him up the wall with his pranks and insults._

"I am not _joking_!" Gilbert fumed. "You are about to do a very dangerous and foolish thing, and I cannot allow you to do that. Matthew I know is beyond the pale, and totally blinded by his affection for Ivan, but I believed you to be more sensible. What do you want me to do; do you want me to beg you not to go there?"

"On your knees…? Yes, I'd like that," Roderich said with a smile. "It would not keep me from going, though. It needs to be done. However, you are most welcome to join us."

Gilbert gave an inarticulate sound of rage and stormed out of the room.

"He'll come along," Elizaveta said, after the door had closed with a loud thump.

"I think so, too," Roderich agreed.

"Well, that was fun to watch." Elizaveta stretched languidly. "But you will have to excuse me now. I need to get back to Budapest and watch over my government; they are such fools. Good luck and a safe trip to Russia and back." She nodded towards Matthew. "And to you especially. Be safe. Be careful. Wear a chastity belt and a hidden dagger if you have to." She grinned and turned to walk towards the door. With her hand already on the doorknob, she paused. "Oh, and Roderich…?"

"Yes?"

"Congratulations on your Prussian conquest. He is as good as won."

She gave a short laugh and slipped out of the room.

Roderich muttered something under his breath and walked over to the harpsichord to rearrange sheets of note paper that Gilbert had apparently left in disorder.

Matthew remained silent for a few minutes, mulling over what had just happened. He had learned some things that gave him cause to hope, and others that upset him. But at the very least, Ivan's motives were beginning to get clearer and he was grateful for that. Uncertainty and doubt had plagued him for weeks now, and he felt certain that he would sleep better knowing that there _was_ a reason behind Ivan's odd behavior, and that after all, it was not his fault.

Roderich was standing in front of the harpsichord, staring out of the window when he looked up again.

"Thank you for helping me," Matthew said, struck by a bout of sudden gratitude, "and thanks for coming to Moscow with me."

"You are welcome," Roderich replied without turning around. "And I do believe it is necessary. Besides… we have an agreement, do we not?"

"Well, according to Elizaveta, you don't seem to require my help any longer…" Matthew replied with a small smile.

"She's wrong," Roderich said simply.

"Gilbert will calm down eventually, you know," Matthew said. "He's just upset, because he worries about us getting hurt. He is very loyal to his friends, he always has been. And don't you think it's sort of sweet how much he worries about you?"

"Sweet is not the right word to describe Gilbert in any context." Roderich finally turned around. His eyes had gone dark again, Matthew noted, had resumed their original color. "You should rest now. We will probably leave early tomorrow morning. I had one of the guest rooms prepared for you, and my staff will attend to your needs."

Matthew nodded, hearing the dismissal in those words. "Thank you. I appreciate it. You should probably get some rest, too, you look exhausted."

Roderich smiled wistfully. "Ah, you know where I relax, Matthew… right here, with my fingers on the keys; playing… it's my music that calms me, if nothing else."

"I'll leave you to it, then. And Roderich…?"

"Yes?"

"Francis was right, you know. You probably should sleep with Gilbert before either of you does something incredibly stupid."

He turned and left the room before Roderich got a chance to reply. Matthew had heard enough denials from both Roderich and Gilbert over the years to feel certain that they were deeply and irrevocably in love with each other.

* * *

><p><em>Haflinger = a breed of horses indigenous to Austria. They are rather pretty, and as far as I can tell, they are good horses, too, even though each and every one of them that I have met so far was rather headstrong.<em>

_Cembalo = harpsichord. In case you still don't know what it is, picture a miniature version of a grand piano… or google it._

_Friedrich II. (1712-1786) = King of Prussia, called "the Great" and sometimes (affectionately) "der Alte Fritz" ("Old Fritz"). One of the first things he did after ascending to the Prussian throne was to attack Austria, so no wonder Maria Theresia didn't like him (the feeling was mutual, by the way)_

_Maria Theresia (1717-1780) = the only female ruler of the Habsburg dominions and – among quite a few other things – Holy Roman Empress. She not only gave birth to sixteen children, thirteen of whom survived infancy, but also ruled half of Europe. _

_Palatschinken = pancakes, the Austrian version. Elizaveta and I both love that word (it sounds funny even to a German, since we use a different word)_

_Zwei-plus-Vier-Vertrag (Two Plus Four Agreement) = Treaty that was negotiated in 1990 between the Federal Republic of Germany (BRD, West Ludwig) and the German Democratic Republic (DDR, East Gilbert) and the four powers which occupied Germany after WWII – namely France, the UK, the USA and Russia. Among other things, it settled our border with Poland once and for all (which I'm sure was a relief to everybody involved). It is also the equivalent of a peace treaty between Germany and the Allies – it came 45 years after the end of the war, but better late than never, right? And last but not least, it also gave Germany full sovereignty as a (unified) nation. Because, yes guys, Germany was not a fully sovereign nation until then, not even the Western half of it. So all in all, as a German, I'm really happy they signed that treaty. _


	25. Innsbruck and Moscow: Reunion

When Matthew stepped into the parlor the next morning, he was surprised to find not only one, but two Germans wearing military uniform and equally dire expressions. Ludwig looked serious and imposing dressed in the dark blue current day German navy uniform with golden stripes on the sleeves of his jacket. Gilbert had donned his Prussian blue uniform, his left hand toying with the iron cross as he paced the room. The greatest surprise, however, was Antonio leaning against the wooden banister of the stairs, dressed in jeans and a white shirt and wearing an unusually glum expression.

"Good morning everyone," Matthew said, "mind telling me what this is all about?"

"Morning, Mattie," Gilbert said, stopping to look at him. "_This_ is for your own protection, little fool. I'm not going to let you confront Ivan unprotected. I would have dearly loved to call your brother, but I'm not about to start the Third World War. So this will have to do."

Matthew shook his head, unsure whether to laugh or be annoyed. "Okay, Gilbert, it's actually very sweet of you to worry so much, but don't you think this is a bit weird? I mean, Ludwig I understand, since he's your brother, but Antonio…? What does he have to do with anything?"

"He's my best buddy," Gilbert said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"I'm always glad to help," Antonio put in.

"It's getting even better," a smooth tenor voice said in perfectly accent-free English, "since Gilbert asked _me_ to come along."

A slender, dark-haired young man stepped into sight, entering from an adjoining room. He, too, was dressed in a military uniform, though of a rather unfortunate color that only with much goodwill could be described as olive green.

"Ariel?" Matthew asked incredulously. "What are _you_ doing here?"

The human personification of the state of Israel smiled at him. "Well, I hate Ivan almost as much as I hate Gilbert."

"That doesn't explain why you're here," Matthew insisted.

"I called in a favor," Gilbert said.

"A favor?" Matthew asked incredulously. "Your people tried to wipe _his_ from the face of the Earth before he even got to be a nation, so what favors could he possibly owe you?"

"That's between Gilbert and me," Ariel said. "Besides – I have always been a nation. I just didn't have a place to stay. You others did your very best from preventing me of settling down." Once again he smiled, but there was nothing pleasant about that smile.

"That's probably because you're so fanatically fixated upon a little piece of dust and rock and a few olive trees by the Mediterranean Sea," Antonio said. "That place has been a bloody battleground for millennia."

"Hey, it's not my fault that everybody believes I'm worth fighting over," Ariel said, shrugging, "For as long as I can remember, people have either wanted to annihilate me and mine or to rob us of our lands. But-" he spread his hands – "see, I'm still around. That which does not kill us, makes us stronger."

"Was that Hitler or Stalin?" Gilbert asked, frowning.

"Actually, it was Nietzsche. And you should know that, Gilbert, he was one of yours. Now, shall we have another tiresome discussion about my history and existence, or can we get on with things? Where is Roderich, by the way?"

"I'm here," Roderich announced from the top of the stairs. Matthew turned around to find him eyeing the assembled nations critically. "I see you all dressed for the occasion. Why not don full dress uniform, though, while you were at it? This is an official visit, is it not? And Ari, that thing you're wearing is god-ugly. Was there nothing else to be found in your extensive stores?"

"That _'thing' _is what my people proudly wear to war and die in, Roderich," Ariel said, "and I don't care if it upsets your fashion sense. You would look ridiculous in a uniform of any kind, so don't tell me how to wear mine." He clapped his hands. "So. To Russia it is, or were you going to offer us breakfast?"

"I will gladly offer you breakfast some other time – when you don't come unannounced."

"Fair enough," Ariel said, nodding.

* * *

><p>Matthew spent the plane ride next to the surprisingly chipper Israeli, who told him that apart from having to spend the day with Gilbert, he was actually pleased about this little trip. "It's good to get out every once in a while," he confided, "politics at home are a mess. I swear, if terrorists, hostile forces and the assorted madmen of the world do not manage to destroy my people, they will take over the task themselves. One would think that with all the fighting going on around them they would try to avoid fights among themselves, but just the opposite." He shook his head. "It's sad, really. But I love them anyway. Even if they are a bit crazy. I can't help it."<p>

"I think we all love our people," Matthew said diplomatically. Like most other Western nations he was always on tiptoes around Ariel. It was all too easy to say something that might be interpreted as racist or otherwise offensive. None of the other nations really knew what to make of Ariel, mostly because of his unique history. Ari of the many faces, they called him, and there was some truth in that.

"So," Ari said conversationally, "and you think you're in love with Ivan, is that right?"

Matthew squirmed in his seat. "Well… yes, I suppose so."

Ari shook his head. "Then Gilbert was right to call you a fool. Ivan will eat you alive, hair, skin and all. In love with him? Ha! I might as well declare my love for Gupta. With the one difference that I'm probably stronger than him and already bloodied his nose once or twice in the past. But you…? You don't stand a chance against Ivan."

"I don't want to fight him, though," Matthew said.

"You'll end up fighting for your life, for your very existence." Ari shrugged. "But that's your problem, right? It's really not my place to tell you what to do with your life. So long as your actions don't threaten me and mine, I'm okay with whatever you do, even if it's idiotic."

"Why… thank you." Matthew knew not what to make of that.

"You're welcome. Thanks for sitting with me, by the way. I was afraid I'd have to sit with Ludwig, and I try to avoid that. I make him terribly uncomfortable, poor chap, and in return, he makes me miserable. That history of ours makes it almost impossible to carry on a normal conversation that is not fuelled by guilt and bloody memories. He's even more careful around me than the rest of you lot, and that makes it very hard to get a straight sentence out of him."

"Ludwig feels terribly bad about what his people did to yours," Matthew said.

"I know," Ari replied, sighing. "And I'm not saying he shouldn't, but it gets a bit tedious sometimes." He gave a sudden laugh. "I rarely run into that problem with Ivan. He's usually pretty straightforward."

Matthew smiled sadly. "Yes, he is."

Even now it hurt to think about Ivan, the same sharp pain he had felt for weeks, ever since that fateful last meeting in Washington. _What am I supposed to do if he refuses to see me? _he wondered. _Are there any other options, or is this perhaps my last chance to set things right? And what if he does agree to see me…? If the others are right, Ivan is trying to change his ways and save me… and by coming to him, will I not force him to give up on that? If so, is it wrong what I'm doing? It has to be…_

"You have grown awfully quiet," Ari noted after a while. "Are you having second thoughts about this?"

"Yes," Matthew said honestly, "but I have to do it anyway. I cannot live with this uncertainty, it is driving me mad. And at the same time, I have this terrible feeling that I'm heading right into my own destruction and that it's not only incredibly stupid, but also absolutely pointless what I'm doing."

"I know the feeling," Ari said, grinning and slapping him on the shoulder, "I know it well. It is how I have felt for the last few decades or so. I've been fighting for my own survival, for my people, my pride, my right to exist and against pretty much all of my neighbors and the enemy within my own borders for so long that half the time I'm asking myself if maybe that's the only purpose of my life. And sometimes I just want to drop the weapons, close my eyes and say _'to hell with it all, I'm done with this. This is not who I am, who I want to be.'_ But do I have a choice? No. Because one can never go back, one can only move on. And winning a battle is so much more gratifying than losing one." He looked at Matthew sideways from intelligent dark eyes. "I am a firm believer in providence, you know. There has to be a reason for all the strange stuff that's happening. And I'm pretty sure there is a reason why you fell in love with Ivan and he apparently with you. Whether it is a good reason or not, I do not know."

"That doesn't exactly make me feel better, Ari. What difference does it make, if in the end, people get hurt?"

"People always get hurt whenever anything happens to us," Ari said. "That's just the nature of things. But without things happening, there would be no change, and we would all remain frozen in place. Can you imagine a world without change? Humans would not survive it. They crave change, they _need_ change. It's at the very core of their being. Without change, they cannot evolve, and they would have long since died out if they had been incapable of evolving."

"When did you become so wise, Ari?" Matthew asked.

"I've spent a lot of time watching people struggle and suffer, that's all," Ari replied, shrugging. "They are amazing creatures, humans. One can learn a lot from them. You should talk it over with Ivan; he and I have come to some very similar conclusions over the years."

"Ivan doesn't really like humans," Matthew said. That much he knew.

"I never said he did. As a whole, I don't particularly like them, either. But I do think they are fascinating." He bent over to look out of the window. "Oh! Is that already Moscow? It looks very… white from above."

* * *

><p>Ivan did not own a house in Moscow; he owned a palace, or at least something that suspiciously looked like one. It was huge, lavishly decorated and on the whole rather impersonal, more a museum than a home.<p>

Matthew looked around as he stepped into the entrance hall flanked by Ariel and Ludwig and wondered if this was why Ivan apparently preferred his house in St. Petersburg.

Ivan's human guards and servants had not dared to deny the six nations passage, even though they had orders not to let in any announced visitors. Natalia Alfroskaya, however, was not about to let anybody intrude upon or threaten her beloved brother. She fell upon them like a wrathful spirit and it took both Ludwig and Antonio to restrain her.

"Greetings, Natalia," Roderich said politely to the furious blonde. "You look well. Is your brother at home and presentable?"

Natalia gave an inarticulate snarl of rage, struggling against Ludwig's iron grip.

"I don't think she likes us being here," Ariel commented. "And frankly, I did not expect to see her. Unless I'm very much mistaken, her dealings with Ivan usually consist of him refusing her proposals and throwing her out of his house while she screeches like a madwoman and throws precious china vases at him."

"Yeah, well, my brother and I fight, too, and we still live together," Gilbert said, shrugging. "You don't have a sibling, Ari, so you wouldn't understand."

"Natalia," Matthew said, carefully approaching the furious woman, "we mean no harm to either you or Ivan. But I have to see him. It's very important."

"He doesn't want to see you, you imbecile!" Natalia hissed.

"I know that," Matthew said, inwardly shrinking beneath the blow she had dealt him with those words, "but I want to see him."

"That is because you are a suicidal fool," a hauntingly familiar voice said from the other end of the long room. It sent shivers down Matthew's back. Very slowly, he turned away from Natalia and lifted his eyes.

Ivan stood on the threshold, framed by the wooden doorframe like the painting of some medieval warrior king. He was richly dressed in black and red, with golden buttons sparkling in the lamplight and his pale blond hair a glorious mess of shiny silver threads. Other than that he looked ill, drawn and sleep-deprived.

"Ivan," Matthew muttered. He felt like crying or running across the room to throw himself at Ivan's feet, or better yet, into his arms, but he was frozen to the spot.

"Well, if it isn't the master of the house himself," Ari said. "Hello Ivan. You really should replace your guards. They look very threatening, to be sure, but they are so easily persuaded to let strangers into the house. We come bearing gifts, though." He negligently pointed at Matthew. "You lost something, didn't you? Well, he's back now. Though whether it's foolish or not, I really cannot say."

"Ariel," Ivan acknowledged him. "Gilbert. Ludwig. Antonio. And Roderich… I should have known that you had a hand in this. What's with the uniforms?"

"Well, Ludwig simply likes them, and Ari probably didn't have the time to change into something decent," Antonio said, grinning. "And as for Gilbert – he's wearing his because he knows that it looks good on him and that Roderich thinks it's kinky."

"Tonio! I most certainly do not!"Roderich blustered, just as Gilbert turned to look at him, asking: "You do? Well, that sure explains a lot. You could have told me, you know, I would have…"

"Gilbert, focus," Roderich hissed at the Prussian.

"Well, amusing as this is, I must ask all of you to get out of my house _now_," Ivan said. "If you have any serious business to discuss, make an appointment with my staff, and otherwise leave me alone. I do not care for surprise visits."

Matthew saw that his whole body was tense with the effort to control his feelings, that he was nearly trembling, trying to maintain his grip on himself.

"And please do release my sister," Ivan added. Reluctantly, Ludwig and Antonio let go of Natalia. Antonio had the good sense to put a safe distance between himself and her claws, but Ludwig paid for his slowness with a slap in the face that left a red stripe on his cheek.

"Mindless idiots," Natalia huffed and proceeded to add a few choice insults in what Matthew could only assume was her native tongue.

"Natalia, that will do," Ivan said sternly as if chastising a small child, "behave yourself. They may be unwelcome, but they are still my guests."

"You are an idiot, you know," Ari told Ivan conversationally, "they delivered you your heart's desire on a silver platter and you cast them as well as Matthew out of your house…? Make up your mind, Ivan. "

"I have," Ivan said, and Matthew noticed with a stab of pain that he was looking everywhere but at him. "I want all of you to leave. Now."

"Me, too?" Matthew asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He could feel something breaking inside of him, cracking into a thousand pieces like a mirror or a sheet of ice that someone has stepped on.

"You most of all," Ivan said. He sounded strained. "Ludwig, you're the only one of this lot that I trust to honor my wishes. Will you see to it that Matthew leaves my house and goes home?"

"I would, but I don't think he wants to leave," Ludwig said, "and I will not force him."

Ivan closed his eyes as if he were in pain, then nodded slowly. "Natalia, then. Dear sister, would you _please_ see to it that Matthew is escorted out of the house and back home?"

Natalia grinned triumphantly at Matthew. It was a very ugly grin on such a pretty face. "With pleasure, dear brother."

Ivan had noticed the grin, too. "But _safely_, Natalia," he warned. "Safely and unharmed. If anything should happen to him on the way home, I will hold you personally responsible for it."

Natalia pouted at that. "The roads are slippery," she protested, "why should I care if he falls and breaks a leg?"

"Because _I_ care," Ivan said, his voice as icy as the cold outside. "And you will do as you are told, or leave my sight."

"Fine," Natalia snapped. "I'll take care of your precious boy. Though I'd rather do it my way."

"Bitch," Gilbert said.

"Nobody asked you, you walking corpse!" Natalia snarled, whirling around to face him.

"That's a new one," Gilbert commented, red eyes narrowing, "I hadn't heard that one yet. I can still kick your ass, though."

"Wanna try?" Natalia taunted, sneering at him.

"I'd love to, but I don't hit girls in front of my baby brother. He's kinda squeamish about that," Gilbert replied with a negligent gesture towards Ludwig.

"Gilbert, Natalia, will you just shut up for a minute? Please." Matthew was past caring about his image or the fact that everybody in the room was suddenly staring at him, astonished at his words. "_Nobody_ is taking me _anywhere_. I am sick and tired of being dragged around by people who think they know what's best for me. I'd like to remind you all that I am a sentient being and a sovereign nation and not a ragdoll." He was speaking to the general public, but looking at Ivan, who turned his eyes away, avoiding his gaze. _And I am growing very tired of that, too_, Matthew thought angrily. _Just look at me, will you? Coward._

Matthew began walking towards him. Slowly, one step at a time. Ivan did not flinch backwards but looked like he wanted to. His entire body was so tense that Matthew began to wonder why he hadn't snapped and lost control yet.

"And you," he said more quietly, still approaching Ivan, "owe me an explanation. A nice, long, carefully worded explanation that tells me why the fuck you literally threw me out of that room in Vienna, and why you abandoned me, and why on Earth it's me coming to you, fighting for you, when you are supposed to be the strong one. _Why_ are you doing this to me? I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be in the middle of a goddamn international crisis, I never wanted to raise a hand against my brother, never wanted to defy my family and I certainly never wanted to come to bloody Moscow in the middle of winter, with an escort of people who think that I'm nuts to even do this, because you refuse to look me in the eye and talk to me. _Merde!"_

He was standing right in front of Ivan now, out of breath, with tears welling up in his eyes, staring up at the single most infuriating being he had ever met (including Alfred, and that surely was something).

Finally, Ivan looked at him. His violet eyes were wide and Matthew read fear in them, fear and loneliness and longing and incomprehension and despair, everything he felt himself was right there in Ivan's eyes. And Matthew knew what to do. It seemed like the simplest thing in the world, but it was one of the most difficult moves he had ever made: he got on tiptoes, put his arms around Ivan's neck and kissed the Russian full on the mouth.

* * *

><p><em>Ta-da! I think we've all been waiting for that kiss for a long while...<br>I want to thank you again for all the lovely reviews you've left for this story! Reviews are like virtual chocolate, and I work a lot better on chocolate than I do without ;)_

_Also, I'd like to let you know that there now is a companion piece to this story called "International Relations". It mainly focuses on the Prussian-Austrian subtext of "Crimson Skies", but also on some of the other pairings.  
><em>

_By the way - Ariel would like to let you know that there's no connection whatsoever between him and the Mermaid...^^  
><em>


	26. Moscow: Signed and Sealed with Blood

It had grown very, very quiet in the large hall of Ivan's palace in Moscow. For a moment, the six other nations were staring at Matthew and Ivan as if frozen, their faces wearing almost identical expressions of stunned disbelief.

Nobody, however, was as startled as Ivan himself. His reflexes kicked in, to be sure, and his arms went around Matthew, pulling him closer as he responded to the kiss; but it took his brain at least half a minute to catch up. When it did, it informed him that it had no idea how to react to this.

_Oh God, what am I going to do… no, no this is wrong, this is… it cannot be, what am I supposed to do, no… this is Matthew… Matvey… Matvey!_

Just to hold him again, to feel him, warm and familiar and _alive_ in his arms, was enough to send Ivan's head spinning. Everything went black and white for a moment, everything but Matthew, there was nothing but him, nobody, nothing mattered anymore but to keep him close, keep him safe, and not to lose him again.

Then Ivan remembered why Matthew needed to be protected and was almost ready to push him away again. Almost. He felt that no matter what, he could not do it, and settled for less, raising his head to look into that beloved face, still uncomprehending.

_Ari was right, I had lost you. But you came back to me… why? – Does it matter, though? You came back. You are here… _

"Ivan, you _idiot_," Matthew said softly, but with feeling, "you still love me."

"I do," Ivan replied, judging that the insult was fully justified. He felt like an idiot. A weak and powerless idiot, who was incapable of keeping the promise he had made to himself and of keeping his loved one safe. "I should not be doing this," he whispered, one hand stroking through Matthew's soft blond hair.

Matthew looked up at him, anger mingling with relief and desire in his eyes. "Shut up," he said, just as quietly, before kissing Ivan again.

In the background, somebody chuckled. It was a pleasant, merry sound. "Shit," Ari said, "and I thought my relationship with Fouad was fucked up."

Ivan raised his head once more to look at the Israeli over the top of Matthew's head. "Who the hell is Fouad?"

Ari shook his head disbelievingly. "Oh, only that… _entity_ that lives in my house and that nobody in this room except you recognizes as a sovereign nation…? Which, by the way, he isn't, and never will be. Not if I can help it."

"Oh," Ivan said. "I sort of forgot about him."

"Yeah, I get it. You've got your head full right now. And your hands, I think. I forgive you this once for forgetting my most urgent problem." Ari chuckled again.

"So this is it?" Antonio asked. "You two made up again, and we can all go home?"

"Ah, Tonio, I don't think it's _that_ easy," Roderich cautioned, "between you and Lovino, perhaps. This is a bit different, though."

"He's right," Matthew said, sounding regretful as he let go of Ivan and dropped his hands. "We need to talk."

"Okay," Ivan said, looking down at him. _How could I ever think that it would be even possible to leave him? Never to see him again? It's not… God help me, but I need him. More than anything._

"Wow," Gilbert said, "seems like it worked."

Matthew turned around to face him, and Ivan reluctantly let go of him. "It always does," the Canadian said, sounding only the slightest bit smug. "A kiss is the most honest expression of feeling we have. You can fake it, but if the other person is paying even the least bit attention, he'll notice."

"Are you channeling Francis?" Gilbert asked wryly. "Your parentage is showing, Mattie. I heard it just now and in that earlier statement of yours. Arthur's anger and Francis' passion. You're a weird mix of the two of them, you know."

"Why, thank you, Gilbert." Matthew sighed and turned back towards Ivan. "Two questions: will you behave yourself, and is there a room where we can all sit comfortably?"

"Yes," Ivan said, brushing an unruly curl from Matthew's face. He could not help himself, he yearned to touch Matthew. It had been too long, far too long. "And yes. Follow me upstairs."

* * *

><p>Ivan led them into a small conference room on the first floor and had his people bring refreshments. He still wondered what had brought this odd assortment of nations together. Roderich and Ludwig he understood, and Gilbert, he supposed, just came with Roderich these days, but Ariel? What did Ariel have to do with anything?<p>

He was about to ask, when he caught Antonio shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "You know, this should probably be a private conversation. It doesn't look as if Ivan was going to eat Matthew, so maybe we should leave now…?"

"I have to stay," Roderich said, "anything else would be a violation of the contract we signed in Washington. But I think you others may leave if you choose to." He turned towards Matthew and Ivan, who stood next to each other at the other end of the table. "What do you think?"

"By all means, leave," Matthew said, shrugging, "I never asked for an escort, anyway."

"You are welcome to stay," Ivan said, because truth be told, he would have felt _safer_ with somebody else besides Roderich standing between him and Matthew.

"You changed your mind rather quickly about that," Ariel noted.

"If you'll excuse me then," Antonio said, looking relieved as he got up.

"I'll go with you," Ludwig said, "I have business to attend to. Gilbert?"

His brother shook his head and fixed his red glare on Ivan. "No way. I'm not leaving you alone with…"

"… Roderich?" Ivan asked, raising his brows.

"I was going to say _'Mattie'_, but that, too, yes. I'm not leaving you alone with either or both of them."

"Suit yourself," Ivan said.

"Let's make this a double date then, shall we?" Ariel said, rising from his seat. "I'm leaving, too. It was nice to see you all, though."

"A double date?" Matthew asked, when the three nations had left. "Really? As if I'd ever go on any kind of date with Gilbert…"

"I feel the same way about Ivan," Gilbert assured him.

"You _did_ go on a double date with Toris, Elizaveta and me, though," Ivan reminded him, grinning. It was a fond memory… one of very few from that era.

"Now wait a minute," Roderich said, clearly astonished by this piece of news, "you dated Elizaveta?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Yes, Roddy, because I'm totally into your crazy bitch of an ex-wife. We had hot rampant sex all over the Balkans."

"That sounds _so wrong_," Matthew commented, apparently torn between amusement and disgust.

"Gilbert! That's disgusting!" Roderich protested.

"I'll tell Liz you said so," Gilbert replied, smirking, "and before you ask: No, of course I wasn't serious."

"Oh," Roderich said, looking somewhat bedazzled for a moment. "Really?"

"She hits me over the head with that frying pan whenever I so much as open my mouth, so what did you think?" Gilbert shook his head. "We tried, but it just didn't work out. And you didn't help with that, either," he added, looking at Ivan.

"Hey, don't blame me, I never discouraged you," Ivan protested. "I thought you and Elizaveta were a good match."

"Yes, Ivan, but you also thought that Toris and you made a good match and look how that turned out." Gilbert sighed. "But that's a pointless discussion, right?"

"I'm sorry… about Toris," Ivan muttered, trying very hard to banish a pair of large, tear-filled dark eyes from his mind.

"I sure hope you are," Gilbert said firmly.

Ivan had never been a coward, and any man who had ever said so had been taught not to repeat his words ever again by his bare fists or worse, but he felt that he could not meet Gilbert's eyes right now. Gilbert _knew._ He had been one of Ivan's closest companions for several decades, and even though the bond between them had been broken, some things remained.

Memories, for the most part.

Grey and black and crimson memories, guilty memories, terrifying ones, memories of gratitude, triumph, mutual dependence, anger, fear, betrayal… so many bad things had happened to them, but even more had happened to others, and in most of these events, Ivan had had a hand or two. And Gilbert had watched them all happen…

Ivan realized that while of the three nations in the room with him one was his friend and one was his lover, it was actually Gilbert who knew him best. His former friend – and now his enemy…? Yet Gilbert's demeanor was not entirely hostile. He had little love for Ivan and did not even attempt to hide his wariness, but he had been surprisingly fair so far. He had made it pretty clear where the lines were drawn, though. Hurt Matthew; and Gilbert would join the Alfred-Arthur axis of anti-Russian sentiment and action. Hurt Roderich; and Gilbert would personally descend upon Ivan with all the wrath of an undead titan. Ivan appreciated both – Gilbert's unwavering loyalty towards Matthew and the fact that he finally seemed ready to admit he loved Roderich in an entirely non-brotherly way.

_Took you long enough, Gilbert_, he thought. Ivan was one of only four people who knew that the second person Gilbert had met with after the fall of the Berlin wall had been Roderich. _'From my hands in yours' _Ivan had said to Ludwig, but he realized that he might just as well have said those solemn words to Roderich. East Germany belonged with Ludwig, but _Gilbert_, well…

Strange to think that now, years later they were assembled at this table.

"I'm glad I saved you in 1947," he told the Prussian.

Gilbert's red eyes narrowed suspiciously. To him of course, that statement had arrived out of the blue. "I guess I am, too, but we live in the now, Ivan. And no amount of gratitude I might feel towards you will make me forget all the bad stuff that happened between 1947 and now."

"I guess that solves the mystery, then," Matthew said in his usual quiet voice, though his face was animated with curiosity. "So _you _are responsible for Gilbert's… ah… survival?" There were no delicate words for Gilbert's condition Ivan supposed, or otherwise Matthew would have found them.

"In part," he said. "I stepped in when everybody else wanted to eradicate any traces that were left of Prussia. I suppose you could say that I experienced a moment of nostalgia. And then of course, it also served my plans rather nicely to put Gilbert in charge of East Germany."

"_Auferstanden aus Ruinen_," Gilbert said sarcastically.

"Precisely. As national anthems go, that wasn't a bad one, by the way."

Gilbert shrugged.

"But when the Berlin wall fell – shouldn't you have disappeared?" Matthew asked Gilbert. "I'm sorry, I just always wondered… I don't mean to be insensitive."

"That's okay, Mattie." Gilbert smiled wryly, one of his rare sincere smiles. _When I saved him, I saved you a true friend, Matvey_, Ivan thought, feeling glad. Gilbert shook his head as if to say that he didn't understand all of it himself, then continued: "Nah, I guess I was just lucky. Seems that my little brother wasn't ready to let go of me just yet, and by then he was strong enough to support me without endangering his own country."

Ivan noted that Roderich shifted a little in his seat at hearing those words and that he was staring down at his pale, long fingered hands as if they held the meaning of the universe. Curious. A suspicious thought raised its head in Ivan's mind, and it was an interesting thought, but he put it aside for the time being. After all, this was about Matthew, not Gilbert and Roderich.

And Ivan knew that thrashing this out with Matthew was going to be difficult, tedious and quite possibly painful to both of them.

"So what now?" He asked his lover.

"Oh, I don't know," Matthew replied, irony coating his voice like a fine sheet of ice, "I guess you could stop being an idiot and things could go back to normal from there…?"

"There will never been anything _'normal' _where you and I are concerned," Ivan said sincerely.

"Fine," Matthew said, his face set in a stubborn expression, "but I'm not going to walk away from this table without having reached some sort of mutual agreement. And you still owe me a major explanation, by the way."

"Do I?" Ivan asked softly, searching his gaze. "You of all people should know best why I acted like I did."

"Well, I hate to burst your bubble, Ivan, but I don't. In fact, I have no idea as to why you came into my room that day like the reincarnation of Hurricane Katrina, and when everybody, including me, believed that you had left for Moscow. I have no idea why you let me believe that you had left without saying goodbye, and why you changed your mind, or what made you angry that day. What I do know is that you lost control and that it apparently scared the living hell out of you, since you shoved me out of the door with enough force to send me all the way back home."

"I _hurt_ you," Ivan said with all the emphasis on the second word. Matthew, it seemed, did not understand the significance of that, but he had to make him understand.

"Yes you did," Matthew acknowledged. "And I'm not talking about those superficial bruises you gave me when you… uh… got carried away. Contrary to popular opinion, I'm a lot tougher than I look, and I've had worse. You hurt me by casting me out and by completely ignoring me for over a month. You hurt me by making me believe that you didn't love me and that somehow, it was all my fault."

Ivan did not know what to reply, but those words made him feel even worse. He had done so much harm to Matthew already and how could he ever hope to set things straight?

_I should have kept my feelings to myself. I should never even have approached you… I was so lonely, but at what price have I bought your company? It was not worth it… not at the price of your pain, your suffering… it is better to be lonely than to be evil._

"Do I want to know what he means by _'carried away'_?" Roderich asked wearily.

"No." Ivan and Gilbert said in unison.

Roderich nodded, as if he had expected that answer. "Okay. Ivan, you still owe Matthew an answer."

Ivan turned his head and looked down into Matthew's lovely eyes, swallowing hard before he could speak. "It was not your fault," he said quietly bit very firmly, or at least he hoped that it would sound firm, because his grip on his voice was somewhat shaky. "None of it. Never." And belatedly, he realized that that was not enough. "I do love you," he added. "I won't stop loving you, no matter what happens."

_But I have to keep you safe._

He decided to say that out loud, too, because it was vital.

"I feel perfectly safe around you," Matthew stated defiantly, and maybe that was true, though Ivan doubted it. Anyway, it didn't matter.

"You aren't."

"Well in that case, it is my risk to take."

Foolish, stubborn Canadian!

"I can't allow you to get hurt again," Ivan argued, knowing very well that he was that close to losing this fight.

"Good. You stick to that, and we should be alright."

_He doesn't understand_, Ivan thought somewhat desperately. _But then, how could he? They let him grow up so very sheltered, Arthur, Francis and his brother… he has never had to face true madness or the kind of things most of the older nations have experienced. He is so young, so trusting, so innocent. Why do they always have to be this innocent? And why does it have to be me who takes their innocence away…?_

"I can't leave you," Ivan said, now truly frustrated. "I have tried, but it doesn't work."

"Guess I'm irresistible, huh?" Matthew says with a small smile.

_Yes_, Ivan thought, lost in those eyes and wanting nothing more but to grab him and kiss him, _yes, you are._

"We will stick to the terms of the agreement. Word by word," he offered.

"Oh, good," Roderich cut in, "now we're getting somewhere."

Matthew frowned, clearly displeased, but then he sighed. "Fine. If that's what you want…"

"I want you to be safe and happy and healthy," Ivan said gently.

"I'd be happier if…"

Ivan shook his head. "The contract is signed." _When in doubt, cover your ass in papers…_

"As your chaperon, I thoroughly approve of that," Roderich announced. "Shall we set a date and place for your next meeting?"

"Vienna," Ivan said immediately, choosing neutral grounds.

"Wednesday next week, if that's okay with you, Roderich" Matthew said.

Roderich shrugged. "I suppose it is. Why Wednesday, though?"

"February 14th," Gilbert said, shaking his head. "Valentine's Day. Mattie is a sappy romantic at heart."

"Well, at least I know how to express my feelings," Matthew countered before turning back towards Ivan. "Is this goodbye, then?"

Ivan nodded. "I'll walk you to the door."

"Sure. Gilbert, Roderich…? A bit of privacy, please."

"We'll wait outside," Roderich said, rising from his chair and leaving the room followed by the visibly reluctant Prussian.

Ivan got up and offered Matthew a hand, but as soon as the Canadian was on his feet, he was suddenly in Ivan's arms again. Sometimes, those things just happened to fast for Ivan's brain to keep up with them.

"I missed you," he finally admitted, his face half hidden in Matthew's soft curls.

"Promise me not to do something like that again."

It was not an easy promise to make. "I'll try," Ivan offered.

"Okay." Matthew sighed and dropped his arms.

They walked towards the main entrance side by side, and it took all of Ivan's considerable strength to restrain himself, when all he really wanted was to scoop Matthew up in his arms, turn around and carry him back upstairs, to a room with heavy oakwood doors that could be bolted from the inside, to a room where he would make love to Matthew, get reacquainted with that lithe body, whispering all those promises that had been asked of him…

He put a hand over his heart when he kissed Matthew goodbye and watched him leave with his two companions. When they were gone he raised that hand to look at his fingers.

They were crimson with blood.

* * *

><p><em>Fouad = the State of Palestine. Ari, by the way, omitted Natalia when he said that of the nations present, only Ivan recognized it as a sovereign nation. However, the declaration in question was made by the Belarus SSR, whose legal successor Belarus is. So far, the declaration has not been revoked, but Belarus did not officially reconfirm it as Russia did in 2011. I am not quite certain what the other four (omitting Gilbert, since Prussia is no longer a nation) think that Palestine is, but it's apparently not a state to them. Take Germany, as the nation I'm best acquainted with – no official diplomatic relations with Palestine, but there is a German "liaison office" in Ramallah that looks like an embassy, does what an embassy does and pretends not to be one. <em>

"_Auferstanden aus Ruinen"("Risen from Ruins") = the national anthem of the German Democratic Repuplic, also known as East Germany_


	27. Ottawa and Vienna: Valentine's Day

_I apologize for making you wait again! I've been quite busy lately. To make up for the delay, this chapter is a little bit longer. As always, tell me what you think about it after you've read it!  
>[By the way, I'm going to write the entire dancing scene again from Roderich's POV and post it in 'International Relations'. Just for the PruAus fans among you...]<em>

* * *

><p>Spring was still a little ways off, but a few days after his return from Moscow, the young gardener excitedly presented Matthew with a tiny snowdrop and received a brilliant smile in return. The gardener, who like all other members of Matthew's household staff had been very anxious about his masters depressed state of mind, took this as a very promising sign and he was not wrong. Matthew's mood had greatly improved, and it seemed like a heavy weight had lifted off his house and off the shoulders of his people.<p>

But bears are perhaps more sensitive than humans, and maybe Kumajiro was more sensitive than most: On the eve of his departure, Matthew was in the kitchen, supervising the feeding of his beloved pet. Usually, he offered the little bear the choicest pieces of fish himself, but when he reached out towards Kumajiro that day, the polar bear turned his head away with a decidedly pouty expression and padded over to the cook, who stood near the oven, watching them.

Slightly put out, Matthew stepped closer and crouched low to offer the piece of fish on his outstretched palm. Kumajiro sniffed at it, gave a little mewling sound and turned away.

"What's the matter with you?" Matthew asked the bear, starting to feel slightly anxious. "You never refuse food. Are you sick?" He glanced at the cook. "He did eat yesterday, didn't he? And the day before that, and while I was gone?"

The cook, an attractive, fortyish woman with graying hair and the dark, slightly slanted eyes of somebody whose ancestors had lived in this land long before the first Europeans had set foot on it, nodded. "I don't think he is sick," she said, reaching down to curl her fingers into the thick white fur on Kumajiro's back. The bear gave a contented hum.

"You fed him yourself?" Matthew inquired.

She nodded again. "Yes. Remember how he would not take food from me, when I first came to work for you?"

That had been twenty or more years ago, and she had been hardly more than a slender, willowy girl back then, but Matthew remembered. He supposed that Kumajiro did, too.

"Yes."

"Well it seems that he has gotten used to me by now," the cook said, sounding rather pleased with herself. "He loves my fish chow."

"Everybody loves your fish chow, Dawn." Including Francis, and he was such a snob about food.

"So," Matthew added, turning his gaze back to the bear. "It's got to do with me, doesn't it? Have I done something to scare you off, Kuma?" He could not imagine what.

"You have been absent a lot lately," Dawn remarked, "maybe he resents that a little?" It was merely a friendly suggestion, there was no hint of scorn in her voice, but her words felt like a slap in the face.

"I had no other choice," Matthew replied rather sharply.

"I know," Dawn hastily assured him, her voice still gentle, "but he is just a little bear. How could he know or understand? He's a bit put out with you, a little estranged. It'll pass in time. I'm sure of it."

"He's a part of me," Matthew argued.

Dawn looked at him from dark eyes that were too wise for a human. It was slightly unnerving. "We all are, aren't we? But does that make us incapable of feeling any negative emotion towards you? Can we not be a little put out with you at time? Surprised at the things you do…?"

"Are you?" Matthew asked sharply.

"Me, personally? No. We all do what we feel that we have to do, and you are no different. And I like working for you and living in your house, despite all the – ah – interesting houseguests we've had lately."

"You don't like Ivan," Matthew accused her.

Dawn raised her brows. "Ivan? He praised my cooking. I do like people who praise my cooking. On the other hand, he helped you to mess up my tidy kitchen. There were pieces of pancake everywhere! Other than that, though, I suppose I feel rather indifferent towards Ivan. He is your friend, not mine. And it's not my place to question your choice in friends."

"Dawn," Matthew said slowly, "he is a lot more than just my _friend._"

The cook shrugged. "We all have our secrets, don't we? Even you and your kind. You're not that much different from us, you only live longer."

"That's one way to look at it, I suppose," Matthew muttered, before nodding towards the bear: "Take care of him. He seems to like you better than me right now, and I am leaving again tomorrow."

"Don't be mad at the little bear. And don't worry about him."

Easier said than done, Matthew thought.

* * *

><p>Dawn's words were on Matthew's mind all day while he prepared for his departure to Vienna. One could have almost said that they haunted him, echoing in the quiet of his pensive mind and calling forth a chorus of anxious voices warning him that Kumajiro's strange behavior was only the first symptom of a very serious condition: his alienation from his friends, his family, and ultimately his people.<p>

Matthew took great care to hide his anxiety, but at the same time he started to pay very close attention to everything that was happening around him. He discreetly charged a couple of his secretaries with the task of scanning various recent surveys on the public opinion and the wishes, concerns and problems of his people. He did not tell them what they were searching for, for fear of alerting them and others to troubled state of mind and causing a general panic.

Maybe, he admitted to himself, he was being a bit paranoid. But he did not sleep well in the night before his departure to Vienna, and not just because he was excited at the prospect of meeting his lover.

He was in his dressing room, getting up after tying his shoes, when his gaze fell upon a picture of his brother hung above the mantelpiece. The photograph showed a broadly grinning Alfred holding up a pumpkin he and Matthew had carved for Halloween a few years past. The pumpkin smiled toothily and Matthew had to suppress the sudden urge to punch it. It was just a picture after all.

Just a photograph, but it made him realize with a sharp stab of pain that he missed his brother.

_Nonsense!_ He told himself angrily. _Alfred's an idiot and his behavior towards me is inexcusable._

_He still is your brother, though_, another voice, sounding suspiciously like Arthur's, argued.

Matthew whisked it away furiously and turned his back to the accursed picture of Alfred and the pumpkin. He did not want to think about his brother. Not while he was getting ready to meet Ivan.

_I miss Ivan a lot more than I miss Alfred_, he told himself, walking downstairs. It did not sound like a lie, but it tasted like one.

* * *

><p>Roderich welcomed him at the door dressed as casually as he ever got in grey corduroy pants and a deep blue pullover. "I was doing an inventory of the upstairs library," he explained after catching Matthew's surprised look. "Some of the old books are very dusty."<p>

"Sounds like a fun thing to do on Valentine's Day," Matthew commented drily. "Where is Gilbert?"

Roderich shrugged. "I have no idea. In Berlin, I'd expect. Why?"

"Because I expected him to be here. He seems very reluctant to leave you alone with Ivan and me. Besides, I told him to do something nice for you today."

"And you seriously believed he would heed your advice?" Roderich asked ironically. "Gilbert has made it quite plain that he thinks this is a very silly holiday. It has no meaning to him."

"It does to you, though, doesn't it?" Matthew asked. At least that's what I told Gilbert. I thought him smart enough to figure out what was expected of him."

Roderich shook his head with a wry smile. "And who told you to interfere with my personal life, Matthew?"

"Why, I believe you did yourself." Matthew grinned. "I seem to remember a deal we struck, you, me and Ivan…? Anyway, don't be too surprised if Gilbert turns up sometime today."

"I suppose I should change, then…"

"Oh, don't worry. Gilbert would like you in a dress, a work overall or nothing at all. But since Ivan sort of threatened to take me dancing later, you might want to wear something appropriate, too."

"Ivan dances? Voluntarily?"

"I am no less surprised than you," Matthew assured him. "I suppose it's a concession to social rules."

"Huh. Curious."

* * *

><p>Ivan arrived shortly past five o'clock, looking a little like Father Christmas in his fur-lined crimson cloak. Albeit a much younger, better looking and not exactly gentle and benevolent version of Father Christmas, Matthew thought. He voiced that thought to Roderich, who just gave Ivan a short once-over before stating rather drily: "I wouldn't trust him with my children. Or anybody else's."<p>

"It's a good thing then that you don't have any children," Ivan replied by way of a greeting, "and as for me, there's only one child I am currently interested in." His gaze fell on Matthew, and there was a mocking glint in his purple eyes.

"Call me a child again, and you get to spend Valentine's Day all by yourself," Matthew said, not making a move to step closer. Let Ivan come to him…

He did, of course. "And wouldn't that be a pity." His voice was low, more intimate now and he was still looking down at Matthew, who raised his face to meet his eyes. He felt like he was drowning in an ocean of purple. There was that strange, giddy feeling again, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety and that faint, exhilarating streak of fear that kept him on edge and made everything more real than it should have been. Ivan reached out a leather-gloved hand to stroke across the soft skin of Matthew's throat and lift his chin, before he bent down to kiss him. A tremor ran through Matthew's body, one of the absurdly pleasant kind. He leant into the kiss, getting on tiptoes; and felt Ivan laugh against his lips. The next moment, strong hands effortlessly lifted him about a foot off the ground.

"You are too small," Ivan remarked when he broke the kiss. He smiled, apparently still amused.

Matthew glowered at him. "It's not funny. Besides, I'm not that small. Maybe _you_ are just too big."

"We are ill matched indeed. But if I had to find somebody of my own size, I would be sleeping with Ludwig… and that is something neither I nor he could bear."

Matthew briefly tried to imagine the scene, but failed. "Ludwig…? Maple, no, that is just too… weird. Besides, Feli would scratch your eyes out. He probably knows that he's the sole owner of Ludwig's heart, but he is quite protective about the rest of him, too."

"Opposites attract, I guess. There must be some truth to that old saying." Ivan shrugged lightly. "So, sole owner of _my_ heart, what are we going to do with the time that is given us?"

"Don't quote me and Tolkien in the same sentence, it's just wrong.* You're in an awfully good mood tonight, aren't you? It's almost frightening."

"I apologize," Ivan sad with apparent sincerity, "I shall be sullen and bad tempered for the rest of the night."

"Ah… no, that's alright," Matthew said quickly, and then hesitated, his eyes narrowing. "Wait. You were making fun of me, weren't you?"

"Me? Never." Ivan managed a thoroughly innocent expression.

"Oh, put me down already!" Matthew huffed. "You're insufferable."

Ivan gently released him.

"Shall we step inside, then?" Roderich, who had been waiting patiently by the door, asked. "It _is_ rather cold out here."

Matthew and Ivan exchanged a look. "Only to pampered southerners like you, Roderich," Ivan said. "With these temperatures, they'd be having a barbecue by the river in Novosibirsk."

"Quit showing off and come inside," Roderich chided.

* * *

><p>They had tea, during which it was confirmed that Ivan would take Matthew out for dinner and dancing in the traditional fashion. Considering the fact that they were in Vienna, a city that had 'tradition' written all over its baroque buildings and gardens, that naturally meant a very upscale restaurant and waltz. Roderich looked as though he thoroughly approved of the idea.<p>

The food was splendid, and Ivan was in high spirits, giving Matthew cause to hope that their estrangement was a thing of the past now. _We will be together. No matter what happens, no matter what anyone says or does. We will face those obstacles. Together._

When dessert was served, Ivan presented Matthew with a gift. "What, no flowers this time?" Matthew asked, eying the beautifully carven wooden box.

"Look inside," Ivan said, handing him a miniature golden key.

Matthew unlocked the box, opened the lid and found himself looking at… seeds. The entire box was filled with tiny, black and white seeds. "What is that?" Matthew asked, perplexed and searching for Ivan's gaze.

Ivan's lips curved in a brief smile, his expression warm and full of affection. "One thousand sunflowers."

Matthew stared down at the seeds again, still aghast, though the meaning of this gesture began to dawn upon him.

"Provided that you plant them and take good care of them," Ivan added.

"You…" Matthew felt at a loss for words. He shook his head incredulously. "That is really sweet. And a very unique gift, too." He carefully shut the box again, briefly stroking across the top with the tips of his fingers. His heart was full.

Ivan looked pleased. "If so, may I have the pleasure of the next dance?"

"I don't think that a full stomach will make me a better dancer, but you may," Matthew said, getting up and accepting the hand that was offered him. "Will you be alright?" He asked, turning to Roderich.

The Austrian smiled, apparently trying to look unconcerned. The attempt looked rather painful. "Of course. I'll be watching you from here."

"So no pressure, right?" Matthew grinned.

Ivan wove his way through the maze of tables and led him onto the dance floor. It was hardwood, gleaming with polish and one look at the three or four couples already dancing made Matthew very glad that he had recently let Francis do a thorough re-examination of his wardrobe.

Ivan was magnificent in velvety black with a simple white shirt beneath his suit jacket.

"You're dressed to kill," Matthew murmured as they slowly eased into the rhythm and the steps. It had been a while since he had danced, but Ivan effortlessly led him through the motions. He was surprisingly good at this.

"No," Ivan said as they turned. "Not really. I wouldn't wear white if I planned to kill somebody. Killing is usually messy. Darker colors are better suited – red, black, brown. Blood stains badly on white clothing."

Matthew coughed. "That was a figure of speech, you know."

"Oh."

Matthew then wondered if other people encountered similar misunderstandings with their lovers. Probably not, he decided.

He glanced over to where Roderich sat at their table, toying with his napkin and looking ravishingly handsome and royally bored. He tried not to let it show, but Matthew was certain that Roderich was upset.

_Gilbert should be here. And maybe I shouldn't have said anything; Roderich just got his hopes up, and now it looks as if he's going to be disappointed again…_

"Would you mind if I asked Roderich for the next dance?" He asked Ivan. "He looks a little forlorn over there."

"Not much," Ivan said, "and he is probably a better dancer than I am."

"You're a wonderful dancer," Matthew assured him.

Roderich, however, declined both Matthew's and Ivan's offers to dance with him, and in the end, they returned to the floor without him. Matthew felt dissatisfied. "Gilbert fucked it up," he said, frowning. "I gave him very clear instructions and he blew it. How are we ever supposed to uphold our end of the bargain if he doesn't play along?"

Ivan was silent for a moment or two, probably considering this predicament, but then he nudged Matthew so the both looking towards the door. "Look."

And sure enough, there was a familiar face amidst the cheerful crowd. Gilbert was dressed somewhat inappropriately in jeans and a long-sleeved white dress shirt with its top two buttons left unbuttoned, but he was there at least. He slowly made his way towards their table, where Roderich rose from his chair, looking startled.

Matthew watched what he could of their exchange, but Gilbert had his back towards him, so he did not see much. The result of it appeared to be that Gilbert finally managed to drag Roderich away from the table and onto the dance floor.

"It just takes the right one, I suppose," Matthew said, half to himself. "I'm surprised Gilbert dances, though."

"He's quite good, actually," Ivan replied. "It was always a treat to watch him and Elizaveta dance. Roderich, though, is a whole different matter."

"Huh. Well, maybe you have to be European to appreciate classical ballroom dancing. It's nice, but a bit… boring, don't you think so?"

Ivan raised his brows. "Tell me truly – are you bored?"

"With you – never," Matthew said, squeezing his shoulder. "With this music – a little. It all sounds the same. It's like a never ending loop of kitschy, sugary Johann Strauß."

"Roderich would take offense, if he could hear you," Ivan remarked, grinning. "I'm pretty sure that in his heart he considers everyone who doesn't know how to waltz, use a fish knife and quote the classics an uncultivated savage. He tries not to let it show, though."

"So in short, Roderich is a bit of a snob, but we still like him, right?"

Ivan shrugged. "It is easy to like Roderich."

He was right, Matthew thought.

"Even if it means risking Roderich's good opinion of us – do you think he'd notice if we slipped away to some place with a less stuffy crowd and different music?"

They both looked towards their chaperone, sailing across the dance floor with a surprisingly tame and well-behaved Gilbert in his arms. They made an odd couple, but certainly a handsome one, and they were undoubtedly the two best dancers on the floor.

"I don't think he'd notice if we left," Ivan said. "In fact, I think one could set fire on Innsbruck or invade the southern half of Austria, and Roderich wouldn't notice it right now. And the same could be said for Gilbert."

"Let's leave the two of them to their entertainments then, shall we?"

* * *

><p>Surprisingly enough, Ivan knew his way around Vienna, which made Matthew a little suspicious; until his lover told him that he knew his way around almost every European capital. "It's useful knowledge. And Vienna really isn't that big or complicated," Ivan said. "Besides, I lived with Gilbert and Elizaveta for quite a while, and when they weren't talking about Budapest and Berlin, they were talking about Vienna. There seems to be something uniquely fascinating to this city… or maybe it's just Roderich. They both love him in their own way."<p>

And as for finding a club that played _his _kind of music – "All hail the internet," Matthew said, slipping his smartphone back into his pocket, after giving the name and address to the taxi driver. "That's one human invention I really appreciate. It makes things so much easier, when you're outside your own country."

"True", Ivan admitted. "Only a decade ago I'd have had to find some of my own people in Roderich's city and travel their minds and memories until I found what I was looking for. This way is much faster, because you don't have to sift through all the useless blabbering."

Matthew grinned. "Good to know that Russians are apparently no different than Canadians in that respect. Teenagers are worst of all. All the things I learnt that I never wanted to know just from listening to their thoughts…"

"People are people, no matter where they live," Ivan said as he got out of the taxi and held the door open for Matthew.

"I feel terribly overdressed," Matthew remarked as they entered the club, shrugging out of his suit jacket.

"I know the feeling," Ivan said, scanning the crowd. "At least, though, these people don't look as if they had been dead for the last few decades. Maybe there is some hope for Roderich after all."

Matthew laughed. "Come dance with me."

"Gladly."

Outside the strict rules and constraints of waltz, dancing with Ivan was much more fun, Matthew decided. For somebody of his size, he moved with surprising ease and flexibility, and since he could not have cared less about other people's opinion of him, he was absolutely confident, too. Matthew briefly felt awkward, about his clothing, the fact that they were surrounded by strangers, and dancing very close together, but then forgot all about it.

There was a delicious taste of the forbidden about being here, amidst all those strange humans, who were oblivious to their alienness, about the intimate way Ivan touched him, about having escaped the watchful eyes of their unwitting chaperone.

"This is probably wrong, but it is so much fun," he told Ivan, "I feel like a naughty little boy again."

Ivan looked down at him, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "You _are_ a naughty little boy."

"Am I?" Matthew asked playfully, pressing closer. "Well, I suppose you should know."

Ivan readily responded, still moving to the music, but now in a way that wasn't exactly meant for the public eye. "Don't tempt me, unless you want to risk causing a scene," he warned, his voice low.

"Most of them are too drunk to care, anyway," Matthew said, snaking an arm around Ivan's waist. "Drunk on alcohol, hormones, music."

"Can you imagine Arthur's face, though, if he heard that I had publically ravished his little boy in front of two or three hundred humans at a Viennese club…?"

Matthew winced. "Yes. It's a total turn-off." He sighed. "Fine then. No making out in front of the humans. You do realize, though, that that leaves us in a rather tight spot, don't you? Because the only alternative is doing it in front of Roderich, and that is something I don't even want to imagine. This whole chaperone thing has one serious flaw – no privacy."

"I would go as far as to say that that was what Alfred and Arthur had in mind," Ivan said darkly. There was a dangerous edge to his voice.

"What are you thinking?" Matthew asked warily.

"That I'd love to do something painful to your brother."

Well, at least he was honest…

"Don't ruin our night by thinking about him," he whispered against Ivan's lips, once again on tiptoes to make up for their difference in height. It probably looked rather ridiculous.

Ivan hesitated briefly, standing utterly still amid the shifting sea of dancers. Then a shudder ran through his body and he grabbed Matthew tightly and kissed him, a full, deep kiss that left both of them breathless. Matthew trembled in Ivan's grasp, his body betraying him and screaming for more, for closeness, intimacy, unity. It had been too long, but now was not the time or place and he knew it. Knew it and hated it.

Ivan, who had never been good at hiding his feelings, broadcasted his arousal and desire through his lips, his skin, his hands and the hunger in his purple eyes; and that really did not help. A sudden recklessness grabbed Matthew. It was now or never, he had to act, before he lost his nerve (which was likely to happen very soon).

He wriggled out of Ivan's grasp took a step backwards and motioned toward the door.

"What?" Ivan asked. His grip on his voice seemed somewhat shaky.

"Come. I'm going to put you out of your misery before something very bad and disturbing happens in here. Roderich would not appreciate me letting you go on a rampage amid his people."

He tugged at Ivan's hand and wound his way through the crowd, drawing the somewhat bedazzled Russian with him.

Outside, the night was starry and quiet, the temperature just below zero and the thin layer of snow glistened where the light spilled across it. Matthew silently thanked the population of Vienna for going to bed early on weekdays and for building secluded little parks in convenient places.

It was risky, probably not right and definitely not very comfortable, but it was necessary, he thought, his hands caressing Ivan's skin as he lowered himself into the snow. Ivan loomed above him, his eyes burning too brightly as he watched Matthew's every movement. Matthew shivered, but only in anticipation. He did not feel the cold.

His fingers moved quickly, pulling Ivan's shirt from his pants and undoing the buttons, until he could reach inside.

_Well, this should be a total turn-on. Me, on my knees in front of him. _He suddenly felt like laughing. The entire situation seemed absurdly amusing. He was actually chuckling when he touched his lips to the tip of Ivan's member in a kiss, before taking him into his mouth.

_Maple, this is madness. Madness of the best kind, though._

It did not take much to make Ivan come, and Matthew almost felt a little disappointed afterwards, but at the same time, couldn't suppress a grin. There was definitely something comical about watching Ivan struggling to keep quiet (it was a fight he had lost in the end).

Ivan pulled him up by his shoulders, so swiftly that Matthew's head spun, and crushed their lips together in a bruising kiss. The disappointment flew from Matthew's mind along with all the moral qualms he might have had about his behavior.

"I love to taste myself on you." Ivan's voice was rough.

Matthew shook his head. He certainly had a way with words. "You do realize that what turns you on would turn most people off, don't you?"

"And the same could not be said for you…?" Ivan's gaze was intense, cutting through any pretense Matthew might have had in mind. He _knew_.

_And he probably has known all along… maybe right from the start._

Matthew returned his gaze unblinkingly. "I suppose you're right," he said evenly, "it's our dirty little secret."

The expression on Ivan's face changed and in it Matthew caught traces of the fear and anxiety that had almost torn them apart. _Don't you start that again,_ he thought. _Man up, Ivan. _

"You worry me," Ivan said quietly, his voice very serious. "At least my tastes are not threat to my health."

"Only to that of others, right?" Matthew asked sarcastically. The moment was spoiled, and he felt helplessly angry about it. "I'm not as fragile as I may look to you," he added.

"No," Ivan agreed, "but maybe I am not as strong as I seem. And how would you have me keep you safe if the very thing I try to protect you from is what you truly want?"

"I want you," Matthew said firmly. "All of you."

"And I want you to be safe and unharmed. We are at an impasse, aren't we?"

"So it would seem. We are also out in the snow at three o'clock on a February morning and if Roderich has managed to tear himself away from Gilbert, he is probably searching the city for us by now."

"I guess this goodbye then…?" Ivan asked, his voice filled with regret.

"For now."

"I'll take you to Roderich's," Ivan said.

"I'm well able to take a cab on my own, thank you," Matthew said, somewhat put out. Chivalry aside, he didn't like Ivan treating him like someone who had to be protected and led by the hand. "If you turn up on Roderich's doorstep, the blame for spiriting me away will fall on you. Besides, I'm a much better liar than you are."

That got him a brief smile. "Very well, then," Ivan said, before he bent down for a last kiss.

_Even when I'm half angry at you, leaving gets harder every time, _Matthew thought.

* * *

><p><em>* The Tolkien quote in question being "All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us" from "The Lord of the Rings"<em>

_Novosibirsk lies on the banks of the Ob River. I have it on good authority that there actually are some crazy people living there who occasionally have barbecues in winter, even on the ice if the river is frozen._

_Johann Strauß the Younger, also called "der Waltzerkönig" (the king of waltz) in the German speaking countries, was an Austrian composer. If you are ever asked to identify the composer of some famous waltz, mention his name and there's a good chance that you'll be right._


	28. Vienna: Breakfast with the Vampire

When Matthew got back in the wee hours of the morning, he did not expect Roderich to be waiting for him, seated in an armchair by the fireplace, nursing a cup of tea. What he had more or less expected was Roderich and Gilbert waiting for him and Ivan, one worried and annoyed and the other bouncing with fury.

_Maybe I can get out of this without losing too many feathers, _he thought. He decided that this was one of the rare times where is reputation as a shy, innocent and utterly harmless nation would come handy.

"Matthew, where have you been?" Roderich asked. There was nothing whatsoever threatening in his voice – except that it didn't hold any threat at all. Roderich was one of those polite, calm people who patiently waited for a long time before suddenly exploding.

"Uh…" Why did he feel like he was a clumsy baby nation and this was Arthur, lecturing him about not getting his hands dirty? – Because Arthur and Roderich actually had the same paternal attitude towards people they regarded as their charges. It probably came from ruling an empire and raising a bunch of other nations.

Since there was no point in prolonging his discomfort he decided to be straightforward. "I went clubbing with Ivan."

Roderich looked at him expectantly. "And…? Go on."

Matthew shrugged. "I really don't think you want to know the details. We went out, we danced, we had a good time. Nobody got hurt, scared or otherwise damaged."

"And where is Ivan now?"

"On his way home… I hope. We got into a bit of a fight."

Roderich raised his eyebrows. "What kind of fight?"

"Relax. The non-violent kind." Matthew shook his head, feeling somewhat resigned. "The old argument really – he's being patronizing and I can't stand it."

Roderich breathed a soft sound of disbelief. "Well, if that's your only problem, I congratulate you."

"Okay, what did Gilbert do now?" Matthew asked with a somewhat exaggerated sigh.

"Who's talking about Gilbert…?"

"You, obviously. What's the matter, Roderich? It seemed to go so well earlier tonight. Actually, that's the main reason Ivan and I left." It was a blatant lie, but maybe he could get away with it.

Roderich frowned. "Wait. Are you telling me, you planned this?"

Matthew shrugged again, smiling wryly. "We agreed to help each other, didn't we? Now, you already did a lot for Ivan and me, so it seemed about time we did something nice for you. So I bluntly told Gilbert that I thought he was interested in you and that it was about time he did something about that. It was actually quite amusing – you should have seen his face. But when he didn't show up last night I was worried that my plan had gone amiss. You can't really count on Gilbert to do anything; his mood swings are pretty unpredictable. I felt bad about having told you to expect him. So when he finally did show up, I was glad. And it looked like you were finally getting somewhere, so I decided it was probably time to leave… especially considering that Gilbert doesn't get along well with Ivan. It's a one-sided antipathy, since Ivan actually likes Gilbert, but it could have spoiled everything."

"You're telling me you did this for me," Roderich said, clearly still suspicious.

Matthew assumed his best impression of friendly innocence. "Well, Gilbert is my friend, too, so I did it for him as much as for you. And I also did it for me, because looking at the two of you brooding and suffering was beginning to be painful."

Roderich shot him a dark look. "It wasn't my choice, you know. I never asked to fall for Gilbert, of all people."

Matthew snorted. "Of course not! Do you think I asked to fall in love with Ivan? Granted, my life has gotten a lot more exciting lately, but God knows I never asked to fall in love with a self-loathing, psychopathic control freak, who's always at the brink of war with most of the world."

That actually caused Roderich to smile. "What a romantic description of your lover, Matthew. I'm glad Ivan isn't around to hear that."

"Oh, he knows. And I'm pretty sure _he_ didn't ask to fall in love with a timid, overly clumsy masochist with serious anger management issues. Point is, we don't get to choose. I'm pretty sure that if you were to write a list about the things you hate about Gilbert, it would be longer than my arm. But in the end, it doesn't matter. Which brings me back to my original question: Where's Gilbert?"

Roderich sighed, running a hand through his already tousled hair. "I sent him away," he confessed.

"You're an idiot. Why?"

"I… I don't really know. I guess I was scared." It didn't sound particularly convincing. Whatever the underlying issue was, Matthew got a pretty clear feeling that Roderich didn't want to talk about it. But at least he had managed to complete distract the Austrian from his own transgression.

_Mission accomplished_, he silently congratulated himself.

"You should at least call him tomorrow," he advised, "because right now, Gilbert is probably giving poor Ludwig hell on Earth."

"He's not yet back in Berlin," Roderich muttered, "he was driving."

"Well in that case, I do pity anyone he might encounter on the road tonight. Gilbert is a menace when he is in a temper."

"I know."

"Well, I'm going to bed now. See you sometime around noon?"

"Uh-huh."

* * *

><p>Matthew awoke from a dreamless sleep at two o'clock in the afternoon and his skin itched with the desire to take a shower. The sound of running water and the smell of lavender soap reminded him of Washington, of Ivan's hands caressing his skin, of his smooth voice, talking of a distant past, when he had fought on frozen battlefields and watched his lovers die there.<p>

_I never lost a lover to war, _Matthew mused. _I lost them to time or to other humans, and sometimes I simply lost interest… I guess my life has been peaceful so far. Maybe too peaceful._

He stepped out of the shower, grabbed a fluffy towel and dressed in jeans and a comfortable shirt, since there was no one around whom he had to impress. With his hair still wet, he went downstairs, inhaling deeply when he noticed a tantalizing smell of coffee and… pancakes?

_Is Roderich seriously making pancakes for me? That's so sweet…_

Smiling, he stepped into the large, sunlit kitchen – and stopped short, when he realized that there were actually two people in the room. Roderich stood with his back against the refrigerator and Gilbert's hands on both sides of his body, caging him in. It was an intimate position, and even though he couldn't see it from where he was standing, Matthew felt pretty sure that if they weren't kissing, they had been doing so just seconds ago.

_Okay, so the pancakes probably aren't for me, huh?_ But he couldn't help but grin.

"Morning, guys."

Gilbert jumped away from Roderich so fast he almost crashed into the wooden stool to his left. Roderich blinked, looking dazed, and Matthew realized that once again, his eyes were the wrong color.

"Oh, hi Mattie," Gilbert said, once he had regained his balance.

"I'm really sorry, I had no idea you were here," Matthew replied, grinning ear to ear.

"Bullshit," Gilbert rolled his eyes. "You loved every moment of it."

"Okay, yeah, I did. It's actually quite nice to see the two of you engaged in some activity that isn't fighting. Are you making pancakes, Roderich?"

"Kaiserschmarrn," the Austrian replied, his cheeks still pink.

"Well, whatever it is, it does appear to be burning."

"What…?! No!" Roderich rushed to the stove, spatula in hand. "Idiot," he said over his shoulder to Gilbert, once he had assessed the damage. "This is your fault for distracting me."

"Oh, here we go again," Matthew said, shaking his head as he sat down at the table and poured himself a cup of coffee. "I've heard it said that to some people, arguments are something of an aphrodisiac, but you guys really are beyond the pale."

"Was sich liebt das neckt sich," Gilbert said cheerfully, wrapping an arm around the fussing Austrian and stealing a bit of _Schmarrn_ from the frying pan. "It's fine, Roddy. Absolutely edible. So stop fretting and let's have breakfast."

"Or lunch," Matthew said, gazing at the kitchen clock.

Roderich pushed Gilbert away and carefully carried the pan to the table, where he filled three plates.

"So, when did you get here?" Matthew asked Gilbert conversationally.

The Prussian shrugged. "Sometime before dawn, I guess. It's all kind of fuzzy. I remember driving like crazy, and being put out with Roddy for going to sleep. He did leave the front door open, though."

"It was six o'clock in the morning, and I hadn't slept all night. Did you expect me to stay up and wait for you?" Roderich asked, pouring himself a second cup of coffee. There was no anger in his voice, though. "I didn't even know if you'd come."

"Roddy," Gilbert said seriously, reaching across the table for his hand, "that phone call would have raised me from the dead."

"Well, technically, you are dead," Matthew pointed out.

"Shut up, Mattie."

"No really, Roderich, you're going with the fashion these days – your boyfriend is a vampire. Congratulations, you are in one league with Sookie Stackhouse, Anita Blake and Bella Swan."

"You know what, I always wondered why there weren't any gay vampire in those books," Gilbert said thoughtfully. "It's pretty homophobic actually, isn't it?"

"Russell Edgington is gay, at least in the TV show. I don't remember the book… come to think of it; I always thought Louis from Interview with the Vampire was gay. And Armand definitely is."

"Good God, please don't tell me you've _both_ read all of that nonsense?" Roderich groaned.

"Well, one can't always read Goethe and Shakespeare, Roderich. People like that kind of books nowadays. Tomorrow they'll like something else, but we have to adapt." Matthew shrugged. "That _Schmarrn _stuff_ i_s pretty good. Doesn't _Schmarrn_ mean 'nonsense', by the way?"

"It does," Gilbert confirmed.

"Well, there you go."

"You are not a vampire," Roderich said earnestly to Gilbert.

"I promise not to bite you. See, I'm even wearing a cross," Gilbert replied, pulling his iron cross out from beneath his shirt.

"No, I mean you are not dead."

"Do you want me to come around the table and proof it to you?" Gilbert asked, grinning wickedly.

"Okay, I'm out of here," Matthew announced.

"Pfft, don't play the prude, Matthew. You've lost your sweet and innocent bonus when you began sleeping with the bogeyman," Gilbert said, turning back and fixing him with a red-eyed stare. "Where did you go last night?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Gee, I knew this was coming. Who are you, my mother? Ivan and I went clubbing."

"And…?"

"And we did some things that should not be discussed at breakfast. There. Are you happy now?"

"He has totally corrupted you," Gilbert complained.

"Ri-ight. Because you never did stuff like that. You've been to bed with half of Europe, probably including Ivan, so don't lecture me about him."

"Most of us have, actually," Roderich said mildly.

"Surely you haven't?" Gilbert asked, looking faintly shocked.

"Antonio, Elizaveta, Francis, Ivan, Ludwig, Romano and Vash. Not to mention Czechia and Slovakia, when they were still joined as one country. And I'm probably forgetting a few," Roderich said defiantly. "Don't baby me, Gilbert. I'm older than you are."

"You slept with my brother?!"

"Yes. The notorious _Anschluss_, ever heard of it? Though I must say neither Ludwig nor I particularly enjoyed that experience."

"I'm going to kill him!"

"Gilbert," Roderich sighed, grabbing his arms. "Really, after seventy years?"

"He had no right."

Roderich shrugged. "Those were different times. Oh, sit down, Gilbert. You are being ridiculous."

"Glad to see I'm not the only one who gets upset about my lovers past love affairs," Matthew muttered, having watched the exchange with some amusement. "By the way, Roderich – we need to set a date for the next supervised meeting, or whatever you want to call it. Assuming that you still want to be our guardian…?"

"Well, you definitely need one," Roderich replied sourly. "And if you sneak out on me again, I'm going to hand you over to Arthur. Choose a date, Matthew. But if it's all the same to you, I would prefer if we could meet here."

"Sure, I don't suppose it matters much, and neither Moscow nor Ottawa are particularly inviting in winter. I'll talk to Ivan and let you know."

"Good." Roderich nodded. "Oh and Matthew…? On the phone. You'll talk to Ivan on the phone, not in person."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mom."

* * *

><p><em>Kaiserschmarrn – an Austrian dish made with pancake bits and raisins. Try it, if you get a chance to do so; it's delicious.<em>

"_Was sich liebt, das neckt sich" – German proverb stating that a) lovers tend to tease each other or b) people who frequently tease each other may be lovers_

_Sookie Stackhouse and Russell Edginton are characters from the Southern Vampire Mysteries / True Blood. Anita Blake is Laurell K. Hamilton's sexy female vampire hunter / lover. I've lost count on how many books there are now, I stopped reading when it got to the point where I couldn't remember whom she was currently sleeping with. I don't think I need to explain who Bella Swan is. Louis and Armand are characters from Anne Rice's vampire novels._

_The "Anschluss", meaning the unification of Austria and Germany occurred in 1938. I'm not even going to start discussing whose fault it was or whether or not the general Austrian population went along with it, there are some unresolved issues there. There were Nazis on both sides of the border, and since they were megalomaniacs, they thought it was a pretty good idea to unite the two countries. In any case, lost wars are like lost elections – in the end, no one wants to take the blame or admit that they knew about all the bad stuff going on._


	29. Ottawa and Moscow: Survival

"I'm calling with good news," Matthew informed Ivan without preamble. He was lounging in his comfortable armchair, feet propped up on his office desk - after all, it was past eight o'clock, and nobody was likely to come in and disturb him. Which was probably a good thing, because the ear-splitting grin on his face while talking to a Russian representative would have freaked his staff out, never mind tipped them off.

"You calling is always good news," Ivan said, sounding absolutely sincere.

Matthew's heart did a little leap at that, but he was too excited about his news to dwell on that. "Gilbert and Roderich are together. Well, kind of together, anyway."

"Please explain to me, how one can be 'kind of together'?" Ivan asked, sounding amused.

"Well, you know... things are still in flux, nothing's fixed yet, but they do seem to have reached some sort of understanding. I don't know how else to interpret Gilbert French kissing Roderich, while he was cooking breakfast... and Roderich _letting_ him, without resorting to Elizaveta's much beloved frying pan counterattack."

"I remember that one," Ivan replied, chuckling. "She's a fury when angered. Anyway... this is a positive development, isn't it? It's what Roderich wanted."

"Positive? Yeah, I'd say so. Of course, Gilbert will be insufferably smug for the rest of the century, if not longer, but that shouldn't be too hard on anyone but Ludwig and Elizaveta." He tried to imagine Ludwig's expression when he was told about this new development. It would be somewhere between despair and resignation. Probably closer to the former.

"But I do think Roderich is glad," he added. "I still don't understand why he was so worried in the first place. It's pretty obvious to everyone with eyes that Gilbert really likes him and cares about him, and that's a lot to say, because Gilbert doesn't like that many people."

"Ah, but there is more to it, Matvey," Ivan said slowly.

Matthew raised his brows. "Oh? Would you happen to know something I don't?"

"_'Know' _is perhaps not the right verb. Rather, I _suspect_."

"Tell me?" Matthew suggested. With Ivan, you sometimes had to state the obvious.

After a short pause, Ivan agreed. "Yes, I suppose I should." Matthew did not like the sudden air of gravity in his voice. "Have you ever wondered, why Gilbert, who is supposedly a dead nation, who lost his territory and whose population merged into that of Germany over a century ago, is still around?"

Of course he had. They all had. "Special circumstances?"

"Yes, but... The most basic concept of a state is that it is made up of three elements: population, territory and a central government that maintains - or, in many cases, tries to maintain - a monopoly over the legitimate use of force within that territory and upon that population. Now, a nation is a bit different. A nation does not necessarily have to hold territory, otherwise Poland would be dead several times over. Nor does it have to be in full control of its own fortune - take almost all of the former colonies, Afghanistan, Iraq, Germany after WW II, Austria after the _Anschluss_, and all my little satellites. A nation can be no more than a group of people who share the same ethnicity, language, religion, and so on. Ariel comes to mind at that. However, at least one of these elements has to be present. Now take Gilbert - no population, at least none that could in any way be separated from that of Germany as a whole. No territory, he lost that long ago. And no dominion over anything. He has been adrift since the 1940s, if not longer. By all definitions, he should have ceased to exist."

Hearing Ivan so calmly analyze Gilbert's situation and dispose of him as if he were merely a chapter in the history books, sent a chill down Matthew's spine. It was all too easy sometimes to forget Ivan's age, forget all that he had seen and lived through... but Ivan had been witness to the fall of Byzantium, that mighty successor of Ancient Rome in the East, and witness to both the rise and the fall of its successor, the Ottoman Empire. He had seen the Holy Roman, the Habsburg, the Spanish and the British Empires come to power and crumble away, had fought Napoleon's upstart regime in the West and Japan's centuries old one in the East. To him, Prussia must really be no more than a footnote in history.

In the face of such a lifespan of memories and deeds, Matthew suddenly felt small and insignificant.

_Just another footnote. 451: Prussia, Kingdom of. 452: Canada..._

"So why is he not dead?" Matthew asked, trying to shake off the sudden melancholy that threatened to overcome him.

"Why indeed..." Ivan said, drawing out the words. "Well, up until 1945, as you may have guessed, it was Ludwig who kept him alive. Prussia played a big part in the creation of Germany as a state, and in that it became a part of every German's history. Ludwig kept Gilbert around, because young as he was, he felt that he needed the strength, the cunning and the experience of his elder brother. Germany's imperial family, the Hohenzollern, were in fact a Prussian house. But then 1918 comes along, and the Germans, after a lost war, have had just about enough of the Kaiser and his ilk, and he is banished. That was the next serious blow to Gilbert's existence as a nation. And yet - the new Republic is placed in Berlin, and Berlin was ever Gilbert's city. He drags along. Skip a few years, and the Germans decide that the democratic experiment has apparently failed and it's time for a new form of tyranny. Along comes Hitler, who is many things, but definitely not a friend of the old Prussian aristocracy. He uses them as long as he sees fit, but he never trusts them - and probably with good reason, because some of them try to assassinate him later on. But, miraculously, those attempts fail, and it takes another World War and a coalition of the remaining Great Powers to bring him down. And in 1947, those Great Powers decide that they are done with Prussia once and for all. Weak and powerless though he is, there is power in symbols. Prussia is formally abolished. And that should have been the end of Gilbert."

"But...?"

Ivan sighed. "But I experienced a sentimental moment. Gilbert and I have a long history, and while we were never friends, it seemed a shame to just watch yet another once powerful nation, a nation that shaped Europe, disappear without a trace. So when I found myself in control of a sizable chunk of what had been Germany - coincidentally, a large part of what had once been _Prussia_, I thought it was a nice gesture to put Gilbert in charge of it. It was, in my opinion, the perfect deal: he got to live, and I got a secure foothold in Middle Europe and an ally, whose very existence depended on my goodwill. So when in 1949 the GDR rose from the ashes of Hitler's Reich, Gilbert rose with it."

"There's a gap, though," Matthew noted. "What happened between 1947 and 1949? Was Gilbert really dead?"

"That's a very good question. Ludwig wasn't, and neither was Roderich, although they had both drifted into a near comatose state of shock. But something... or someone kept Gilbert alive."

Matthew perked up. "Someone? It couldn't have been Ludwig... or Roderich, for that matter. They were hard pressed to secure their own survival. France and Britain could not have supported him either, they were weakened by the war. You already admitted that you didn't do it. So who...?"

"Would you like to hear my theory?" Ivan asked.

"Oh, absolutely."

"Your brother."

"_Alfred?_" Nothing could have surprised Matthew more. "But why? He had no reason to do so!" Alfred and Gilbert had never been cordial. At best, they treated each other with indifference.

"He made a deal."

"With whom? Gilbert had nothing to offer him."

"Roderich and Ludwig had, though. There was one thing Alfred was interested in after the war, and that was peace in Europe. He had to pay a price for that, and it was a cruel price indeed - he had to accept my involvement in what he considered his own backyard. But I was too strong to disregard and he needed my assistance. While our heads of government and their advisors pored over maps and drew up elaborate plans to pacify and stabilize Europe, Alfred cut a deal with Ludwig, and another one with Roderich. To Ludwig, he promised to do everything in his power to prevent the other allies from wiping Germany off the map for good. He also promised to keep Gilbert around, at least for a little while. In return, Ludwig pledged never to raise arms against his neighbors again, and to become what he is today - the pacifist center stone of Europe. To Roderich, Alfred promised to promote him as a victim of the war, rather than one of its parties. He also promised to keep Gilbert around. I assume that he was rather puzzled by this request, but Roderich was adamant. Roderich in turn swore neutrality, an oath his parliament confirmed in 1955."

"So between 1947 and 1949, it was Alfred who kept Gilbert alive?"

"'Frozen in stasis' would be closer to the truth. Gilbert was _not_ the first thing on Alfred's mind back then. Which is how I managed to snitch him in 1949. Gilbert wasn't particularly grateful, but he kept his end of the bargain. He had no recollection of the past two years and very little of the time between 1945 and 1947, and to this day, he remains ignorant of Alfred's double deal with his brother and Roderich."

"I understand Ludwig's motives for wanting to keep Gilbert alive, and yours," Matthew said slowly. "But Roderich's? If anything, he had good reason to hate Gilbert and to want him gone for good."

"Love is a strange thing."

"It goes back _that far_?"

Ivan chuckled softly. "It goes back to at least the 1740s and the Silesian Wars. Prussia bloodied Austria's nose and bit a big piece of good land out of the Habsburg Empire; and Gilbert won both Roderich's hatred and reluctant admiration. Their rivalry made German politics a much livelier affair for the next century."

Matthew was beginning to feel like he was sitting through a revision course in European history, but he was quite fascinated by these new revelations. "Three hundred years is a long time."

"That depends on your point of perspective. Remember your parents. They look back upon a relationship that is over nine centuries old."

"True," Matthew admitted. "But back to the story. We are still in 1949. Moving on to 1990 - what happened after the German reunification? Once again, Gilbert lost his territory and his borrowed population. Did Ludwig keep him alive?"

"Yes and no. After the fall of the Berlin Wall, Ludwig welcomed Gilbert with open arms. He gave him a place to stay and all the support he could, because in his opinion, Gilbert will always be a part of him, a part of his people's national history and identity. We saw no harm with Gilbert staying in his brother's shadow and left him be. And I daresay Ludwig found it surprisingly easy to support his brother as well as shoulder the responsibilities the reunification brought on."

"He was quite strong by then."

"Yes. He had made remarkable progress. But there's another aspect to the story - Ludwig, even though he is probably not aware of this - is not shouldering the burden of Gilbert's upkeep all by himself."

Realization dawned upon Matthew. "Roderich."

"Roderich," Ivan affirmed. "Now, keep in mind that this is just a theory. I have no solid proof. But I have some experience in the matter, and what I have observed so far suggests that Roderich has been diverting part of his strength to keep Gilbert from disappearing."

"How? It cannot be an easy thing to do... I'm pretty sure I couldn't do it. I wouldn't even know where to start. Is it similar to the process of you healing me after my little _disagreement _with Alfred? A sharing of strength?"

"When you get down to the essentials, it is the very same thing, but on a larger scale. Most of us have supported others at one time or other... helped them to get back on their feet after wars and natural disasters and so on. When you take it one step further, you get alliances such as Roderich's marriages to Antonio and Elizaveta or Ludwig's ill-fated relationship with Roderich during the _Anschluss_. My relationships with my satellite states were based on the same principle, but I used them differently. Usually though, those unions are made up by two or more nation states that get together for a usually limited amount of time. They never merge completely, because they always retain part of their national identity and preserve part of their essence. The big difference in Roderich's relationship to Gilbert is, that Gilbert would vanish if Roderich decided to withdraw his support. And that's something neither of them wants."

"Let me get this straight: Gilbert doesn't know about Roderich's _'help'_?"

"No. And Roderich would be well advised to keep it that way. "

"Why?"

"Can you imagine Gilbert's reaction, if he learnt that his former arch rival is responsible for his continued survival, and moreover, never gave him a choice in the matter? It would hurt his pride worse than anything."

You had to hand it to Ivan, he knew Gilbert pretty well. And if Matthew shuddered at the mere thought of his friend's reaction, imagine how Roderich must feel...

"And there's another reason," Ivan continued, "Roderich has taken it one step too far. He is not as strong a nation as I was during the Soviet Union era, or as Alfred was, when he helped to lift Ludwig up after WW II. So in his desperation, Roderich did what the general opinion has deemed an unspeakable taboo - he has tied his own fortune to Gilbert's. As in a full merger. Which is the most admirably foolish thing any of us has ever done. Especially since he did so without Gilbert's consent. The implications of this are... momentous. Roderich could lose literally _everything_. There are three ways how this could go wrong, and only a very slim change that it could succeed."

"One, Gilbert learns of it, one way or another, throws a fit, runs off and breaks their connection," Matthew mused. And with sudden dread he added: "Would that kill him? Or both of them?"

"That would be the most likely outcome, yes," Ivan stated calmly.

"Oh no..."

"Two," Ivan said, apparently unshaken by the idea of both Gilbert and Roderich dying a gruesome death, "Gilbert doesn't learn of it, the status quo persists and Roderich goes on suffering his silent martyrdom forever. The role suits him, by the way. He makes a very pretty martyr."

"Unlikely," Matthew dismissed the idea. "Gilbert may be oblivious, but he isn't stupid. He'd figure it out eventually."

"Exactly. Which brings us to option three: Gilbert figures it out, throws a fit, but instead of running off, he decides to use Roderich's weakness to his advantage. He overpowers him, takes control of Austria, and there goes Roderich."

"No... Ivan, no, he would not. He could not... Has that ever happened before?"

"Several times. Remember Turkey? Turkey used to be a part of the Ottoman Empire. But when Osman lay dying, Sadiq stepped in and took over."

"But Gilbert wouldn't..." Or at least Matthew refused to believe that he could be capable of betraying Roderich.

To his surprise, Ivan agreed. "Probably not." He didn't sound entirely convinced, though.

Matthew decided to deliberately ignore his doubts. "Alright," he said. "So how do we prevent Gilbert and Roderich from killing themselves? Despite the odds, they've made it this far. There has to be a happily-ever-after."

There was a thoughtful pause at the other end of the line. "Well," Ivan said finally, "the old me would say, let's wait, see what happens and keep out of it, because there's nothing to be gained by getting involved."

"The _old you_?" Matthew asked, somewhat amused.

"Never mind. You wouldn't let me get away with just standing by and doing nothing, would you?"

"Nope. I'm going to save the world - or at least Roderich and Gilbert - and you are going to help." Matthew grinned to himself.

"That's what I feared. What if there isn't a happily-ever-after solution?"

"Ivan. _Wanja. _There has to be."

Ivan sighed. "In that case, I hope your matchmaking skills are above average. Because that's what we are going to need, and as various people have pointed out at numerous occasions, I lack even the most basic understanding of what makes up successful relationships."

"I'm in a relationship with _you_," Matthew pointed out. "Against all odds. I think that pretty much makes me an expert in the matter of maintaining impossible relationships. Besides, I can always go to Francis and Arthur for advice. Theirs is not only the most messed-up relationship on the planet, but also one of the most successful ones. In terms of length, at the very least. Besides, nobody said that we had to do it all by ourselves."

"You want to involve others? Whom?"

"Ludwig, for one. Maybe Feli and Elizaveta."

"No. Absolutely not Elizaveta. It is her ex-husband and one of her former lovers we are talking about. She might still have feelings for one or both of them. She would be a liability. And Feliciano is incapable of keeping a secret. Ludwig... that might work. Most of this will hardly come to him as a surprise, anyway."

"Ludwig, then."

"Do you want me to talk to him?"

"Okay. But I want to see his face, when you tell him."

"That's not going to be possible, unless you want Roderich to be there, too. I'll tell you about it afterwards."

"Vienna. Ten days from now." Matthew stated, unable to keep the longing and anticipation out of his voice. Talking to Ivan on the phone was not and could never be the same as meeting him in person.

"No need to remind me," Ivan said, and there was a slight tremble in his voice, as if he, too, was trying to hold something back. "How could I forget that?"

"Ivan...?"

"Mhm...?"

"The long-distance part of this relationship sucks. It really does."

* * *

><p><em>Admit it, some of you were beginning to think that I had abandoned this story. Well, I haven't. I just feel that there isn't as much to say anymore as there was in the beginning, so I want to draw it out a bit (I'm not ready to end this story yet, I love it too much).<em>

_By the way, this is not the way the history of Europe unfolded. Well, some parts of it are true. I just took some liberties to make it fit my story. _

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter!_


	30. Vienna: Spring

Ivan had not expected to be delayed by pesky local politics when he was about to depart to Vienna. Very few people had the guts to inconvenience him, but the Siberian provincial politicians who had forced their way onto his schedule were hard-bitten men who weren't easily detained. Ivan admired their chutzpa. Unfortunately, they had nothing interesting to say.

He left them with a bouquet of mainly empty promises and set out to fulfill a promise he had given to Matthew.

He did not quite make it in time, but it wasn't for lack of trying.

It was Roderich who opened the door for him, but Matthew was rights behind him, nearly bouncing with excitement and impatience. Ivan couldn't help but smile at the sight. There was so much life, such capacity of joy in this boyish face, and yes, he was beautiful.

"I apologize for making you wait," he said, inhaling the familiar smell of Matthew's hair.

_I missed you. Just to hold you again...! _Not enough. Not nearly enough. But better than nothing, and sufficient for now.

"As long as you're here now.." Matthew muttered against his chest.

"Are you well?"

"Yes." It was heart-warming to see that he still blushed, that his cheeks turned a rosy color, when he added: "Better, now that you are here."

_Matvey, Matvey, please don't ever change. Stay the sweet, gentle child that you are now. Forever._

"Coffee inside?" Roderich suggested.

"Eager to get us off your doorstep, Roderich?" Ivan asked with a smirk. "Before we give ourselves away...?"

Roderich shook his head. "Oh, I don't worry too much about that. Gilbert is a frequent visitor to this house. If nothing they have seen so far has upset the neighbors, I don't think anything will bother them."

Ivan nodded. It was a sensible argument, given Gilbert's propensity for drama.

Roderich led them inside and showed them into the living room were a coffee table was set for three.

"Speaking of Gilbert..."

"There is nothing to say, Ivan." Roderich cut him off sharply. Ivan could all but hear the explanation mark at the end of the sentence. The sudden vehemence surprised him, and it did not bode well for project "save Gilbert and Roderich".

"I was going to inquire after his health, not ask if he had learnt any new bedroom tricks," he told Roderich dryly. "I am not completely inept at small talk, you know."

"Well, I wouldn't know about that, would I?" Roderich snapped, clearly irritated.

"What, my communicative skills or Gilbert's... well, his more physical charms?" Ivan asked, his tone of voice deliberately mild.

"Ivan..." Matthew let out a warning groan. "Just... don't."

"Both," Roderich said.

Ivan frowned at him, puzzled. "Really?" Well, that might explain why he was so prickly. Roderich had always be high strung, it was a part of his rather complex personality, and like it or not, you had to learn to live with it. But he was not usually this snappish.

_Two hundred odd years of sexual frustration reaching their culmination point may do that, though._

It was a pity, really. Ivan by no means fancied himself an expert when it came to relationships, but from what he had observed, those two, while not a match made in heaven, would be compatible in the bedroom. Roderich was the most demanding submissive partner Ivan had encountered in nine centuries of sleeping his way through Europe and Asia. As in all other aspects of his life, he was truly high maintenance as a lover. Way too much drama for Ivan, who preferred simpler, more straightforward pleasures.

Gilbert, though... Gilbert loved a challenge. Anything simple or ordinary bored him. If you asked Ivan, the way to Gilbert's heart was through constant struggle. His choice poison wasn't love, or devotion or pain; it was adrenaline.

They were a perfect match.

And apparently perfectly blind to that fact.

_We should lock them into a room and leave them to discover it, Ivan mused. If they don't kill each other in the process, that should resolve the problem. But then of course, it would also resolve __**the**__ problem if they killed each other. Just not __**my**__ problem._

Matthew nudged him. "You're frowning. What are you thinking about?"

"The apparently rather lamentable state of Roderich's sex life," Ivan answered truthfully, glancing at the Austrian, who had sat down across the coffee table. Matthew spluttered and choked on his coffee, apparently taken aback by the comment.

"Sorry," Ivan said. "Well... you did ask." He shrugged and gave his lover a hearty thump on the back. Matthew coughed, tears in his eyes.

Roderich opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, apparently at a loss of words.

Ivan rolled his eyes. "Come on. You know me. I am very straightforward. If you ask me a question, I answer it. And really, it's a shame, Roderich. You are clearly unhappy single, and judging by the way both Antonio and Elizaveta sing your praises, it seems you are a good husband, which is high praise, you know, given the fact that most of us don't play too well with others. Besides, you are clearly unbalanced and have been for a while. Since you are not in the habit of seeking out casual sex, I conclude that you should enter into a new relationship."

Roderich's face was burning, but so were his narrowed eyes. "That's rich, Ivan, _you_ calling _me _ unbalanced."

"I never stated that I was," Ivan replied complacently. "But the two are utterly unconnected; my state of mind does not influence yours and vice versa."

"Oh, but suddenly you are the expert on relationships?" Roderich asked sharply.

Ivan thought about that briefly. "I do have considerable experience," he pointed out.

"I won't argue that. There is, however, the fact that most of them ended very badly for the other party," Roderich replied, his voice laced with calm malice. "That's after all the reason the three of us are here, is it not? Nobody trusts you enough to leave you alone with Matthew."

Sadly, it was the truth. Although that did not make it any easier to stomach.

"Oy!" Matthew interrupted, putting down his cup with an audible clank. "That's quite enough, you two. Ivan, stop baiting Roderich, it's not helping. If this is your strategy, it sucks. Roderich, get a grip on your emotional turmoil. Ivan is _not_ the enemy, even if he can be a dick sometimes."

Ivan shrugged. "Right now, I'm right, though."

"Famous last words, Ivan." Roderich told him.

Matthew sighed. "Have a cupcake, both of you."

Ivan took his graciously and with a smile, but hey, he would have accepted poisoned wine from Matthew's hands. Well, probably. Love had conquered most of his good sense, but certainly not all of it.

Roderich, on the other hand, looked at the delicate chocolate covered confection as if it had personally wronged him.

Ivan decided that it was time to change subjects... and perhaps his tactics. "How are things with Alfred?" He asked Matthew. Things had been suspiciously quiet on the other side of the Pacific lately.

"Same old." Matthew took a big bite of cupcake and chewed on it thoughtfully. "He's an idiot and gets away with it. There's my whole relationship with Alfred in a nutshell... He seems a little distracted, lately. He even stopped calling me at odd hours to assure that you have not abducted me and dragged me off to Siberia." He flashed Ivan a quick grin.

"If I were to abduct you, I would not take you to Siberia," Ivan said. "St. Petersburg, maybe. The Crimea is lovely in spring, too."

_I would take you some place nice. Some place quiet, just the two of us, no outside interference, no meddling relatives, no chaperon... the things I could do to - no, bad. Do not think about that. It's a dangerous path, it leads to places we do not want to go..._

"Let's not go there, shall we?" Matthew said, echoing his thoughts, but without truly understanding the problem. "We both promised to keep world politics out of our relationship. Anyway, Alfred seems to have some problems of his own, and since he is never really worried about anything political, no matter how spectacularly his attempts at policing the world fail, it has to be personal."

Ivan thought about this for a moment. It did not really take much guessing to come up with a fairly reasonable explanation. "Francis," he said. "I am willing to bet that Alfred is finally beginning to realize he can't compete with Francis."

"In what field?" Matthew asked, frowning. "Not soccer, certainly?"

Ivan shook his head. "No. Arthur."

"I do _not_ need to hear about this," Roderich stated, disapproval very visible on his face. "Arthur has made some questionable choices in the past, but this...? It is... distasteful."

"I'm not sure we are the right people to pass judgment on that," Matthew said. "But what's the deal with Francis, Ivan?"

Ivan shrugged. "Well, he's Francis. You really can't compete, can you? If Francis wants Arthur back, he'll have him, and at a flick of his fingers. Maybe Alfred was once cocky enough to think he could replace him, but even he cannot keep up that illusion forever. One does not fight Francis with his own weapons and win, and everybody should know that, even Alfred."

"I _would_ sleep better if things went back to..."

"... Dad and Papa sleeping with each other...?" Roderich asked ironically.

Matthew blushed slightly. "Well... uh... yes...?" He seemed adorably childlike to Ivan as he said it, eliciting the urge to just hug him and tell him everything would be alright.

_It seems odd that Arthur is judging me for loving his son when his actions are clearly hurting Matthew and the rest of his family. Talk about hypocrisy...!_

Apparently, his thoughts showed on his face. "Not your battle," Roderich told him firmly. "Keep out or you will certainly make things worse."

Ivan rolled his eyes. "Yes, mother."

Roderich ignored the jibe, but it made Matthew chuckle. Ivan took another cupcake, dipping a piece of it into his teacup. They really were very good. One could say a great many things about Francis, but one could not fault him for not having passed an appreciation of fine food on to Matthew.

"On a happier note," Ivan said, trying to lighten the mood a bit, "it seems that Feliciano has forgiven Ludwig for whatever real or imaginary slight he committed."

Roderich hummed his assent. "Gilbert mentioned something like that. I'm glad. It worries me when Feli is angry at somebody, it is very much out of character for him. And especially Ludwig...! It even had Gilbert worried for a little while, and his capacity for empathy is that of a cucumber."

Ivan grinned at that and caught Matthew doing the same.

"Cucumbers aside, though," Roderich added, rising, "Do you think you can do without me for a little while without starting a war, burning down the house or something equally ridiculous? I have... a lot on my mind right now, and I would like to spend some time in the music room."

_And you want to get away from us before we can revisit the topic of Gilbert. _Ivan shrugged. "Suit yourself. I promise to be good."

"I'm counting on it," Roderich replied seriously. "In that case, I would very much appreciate it if nobody came to interrupt me for - say, the next two hours...? Unless of course you _have_ managed to start a war or somebody has gotten hurt. But that won't happen, right?"

"Have fun," Matthew said, smiling inexplicably.

Roderich nodded and left the room.

Ivan turned to his lover. He felt a little confused. Something odd had just passed here. "What was that all about...?"

Matthew's smile broadened and he took Ivan's left hand, tracing a line on the inside of his palm with a finger. "That, my dear Wanja, was Roderich very kindly and circumspectly giving us some privacy. _'Don't bother me for the next two hours' _essentially means _'I won't bother you for the next two hours'._"

_Oh, very clever...!_ A slow smile spread over Ivan's face, mirroring Matthew's.

"I see," he said. Matthew was still tracing patterns onto his open palm and the touch sent little tingling shivers of pleasure up his arm. "Whatever shall we do with that time...?" He caught Matthew's hand in his, like a trapped bird.

"I might have an idea." Matthew pushed his plate and cup back with his other hand and turned towards him. "Or two."

"Show me?" Ivan suggested. It was the right thing to say, apparently, since he ended up with an eager Canadian in his lap. Letting Matthew set the pace was intriguing, and it also seemed a possible safeguard against his more dangerous urges, but Ivan was still on edge, still careful not to get things out of hand. He knew full well that he could not afford another mistake. The price was too high, this time. And rising.

_I love you, Matvey. Too much._


	31. Beijing: Fools

"Why Yao of all people should host a conference on climate change is beyond me," Alfred muttered moodily, stretching his long limbs.

Matthew looked at his brother, lounging in the armchair beside him. "You're one to talk. Anyway, I don't think it is so much about Yao hosting the conference, as it is about everybody else persuading him that climate change really is an issue that we have to address and one that affects him, too. Besides, the experts will do all the talking. We are just here to be nice and entertain each other."

"If that's the case, whose stupid idea was it to invite Ivan and Natalia?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. Alfred had a remarkable talent for making him cross. "Yao's. Ivan is his neighbor. As for Natalia, I have no idea. Maybe he fancies her."

Alfred snorted. "Don't be absurd. She's an utter lunatic."

"So are you, and surprisingly enough, people still agree to go out with you. Beats me." Matthew watched the ice cubes inside his glass swirl. Even without looking he could tell that Alfred was sporting a convincingly hurt expression now.

"You are not going to see Ivan, are you?" His brother asked.

"I don't see how I could avoid it without blindfolding myself," Matthew replied dryly, "given that he will attend all the events, including the dinner tonight."

Alfred sighed and took a sip of his drink. "You know that's not what I meant." He had no right to sound this exasperated, Matthew thought. None whatsoever. After all, _he_ wouldn't be forced to sit at the same dinner table as his lover, unable to touch or to say what he felt like saying.

Matthew looked up and straight at his brother. "And what _did_ you mean to say, Alfred?"

Alfred squirmed a little in his seat, but he returned Matthew's gaze unwaveringly. It was evident that he would not back down easily. "You both signed an agreement. And Roderich isn't here."

Oh, but he was a pigheaded fool...! It was Matthew's turn to sigh now. "Heavens, Alfred...! What do you think is going to happen if I talk to Ivan, in public? Or - God forbid - sit next to him at the dinner table. Give us a break. It's bad enough as it is."

Alfred continued to look at him for a long moment before answering. "Your choice, Mattie." His voice held an almost sad undertone. "You chose this. And against everybody's better judgment, possibly even your own. Even Ivan himself told you to get away from him, and I don't know what that must have cost him, but in any case, it was the one thing that convinced me he might actually care about you. Nevertheless, you decided to go back to him. Can you blame us for doubting you ability to protect yourself? Rant against it as much as you want, in the end it's an act of love."

"Love..." Matthew mused. "Yes, maybe. But I love Ivan, too, Alfred. And therein lies the problem."

A knock on the door interrupted them, and it was probably for the best. Their conversation was going down a path very dangerous to their tentative newfound understanding.

"Come in," Alfred called, turning in his chair - and in walked Ariel. He crossed the room an dropped into a chair next to Alfred unceremoniously. Both brothers raised their brows at him.

"Uh... hi." Matthew said. "You look... odd." And he did. In fact, Ariel looked as if something large, vicious and very determined had attacked him. Both his hair and his clothing were disheveled, there was mud on his pants and in a streak on his cheek and he sported fresh scratches and bruises on his naked arms.

Ariel blew out a deep breath. "I got away... barely. Can I hide here?"

"Depends," Alfred said. "What did you do?"

Ariel shook his head. "Truthfully...? I have no idea. I swear I didn't mean to offend her, and I wasn't misinterpreting the signs, she was pretty straightforward after all..."

"Ari...?" Matthew asked. "From the beginning, please?"

"Right. Well. I think I may have mortally offended Natalia."

"Okay..." Matthew said slowly, remembering his last and rather unpleasant meeting with Ivan's sister. "How? Did you proposition Ivan...? Because as far as I know, that's a sure way to upset her. Also, if you did, I'll have you know that you have offended me, too."

Ariel snorted. "Do I look crazy to you? Er... on second thought, don't answer that. But no. I have no interest in Ivan, Mattie. I like girls; nice, curvy, pretty girls. Such as Natalia."

_Well, that's a relief. _Not that he felt insecure about Ivan's affection for him, but it would have complicated things further if somebody else had been interested.

"She's not nice," Alfred protested. Matthew silently agreed.

"She can be. Selectively. Very selectively."

"What did you do?" Matthew asked.

Ariel sighed. "Look, after we took that little trip to Moscow, I went to see her and... talk to her. Because she seemed so upset. I guess I felt sorry for her. The way she clings to Ivan may be foolish and a tad obsessive, but she can't really help it, apparently. And she is very isolated; hardly anyone ever talks to her except her brother and sister. She was suspicious at first... she thought I was spying on her, or that I had some other sinister motive, but after a while she warmed up to me."

"I think I can see where this is headed," Matthew said. "Ari...? Please tell me you didn't try to date Natalia Alfroskaya? As in Belarus?" Of all the ridiculous pairings in the world, this was certainly one of the strangest... and it was doomed to fail.

Ariel hung his head, which was answer enough in itself.

"You're an idiot," Alfred said.

"Hark who is talking," Matthew muttered, before looking up at his brother. "Really, Al? Of the three of us, who is the most idiotic? The one who is dating the crazy outsider, the one who is dating her slightly schizophrenic and quite possibly dangerous brother against everybody's better judgment, or the one who is dating the guy who raised him despite the fact that said person is definitely _not_ over his ex...? We are _all_ idiots, Al." Not waiting for his brother's reply, he turned to Ariel. "How serious are you about Natalia?"

Ariel shrugged. "Not you-and-Ivan kind of serious. I wouldn't risk my health or starting a war. But I sort of like her. I know it sounds odd, but she fascinates me. She is so... different."

_No doubt. Different. In an endearingly psychotic way._

Matthew nodded slowly. "Okay. And what did you do to upset her? Because she did go along with it at first, didn't she? Dating you, I mean."

"Yes. Or maybe I mistook it for something it wasn't... those things are pretty confusing, relationships and... stuff." Ariel looked well and truly lost as he said it, and Matthew felt sorry for him.

_Confusing. Yes. Absolutely._

"What happened?"

"We met a few times. We talked, went hunting together, even had a snowball fight." Ariel smiled briefly at the memory. "The sex was pretty great, too, even though I wish she wouldn't use her nails so much - uh, that was probably too much information - anyway, we had a good time. So when I saw her today, I thought we could move right along on that track. But she was completely changed. I greeted her with a kiss and a little gift and she threw it in my face and hit me! Can you imagine? We ended up mud wrestling and pulling each other's hair and no, not in a fun way. I asked her what had gotten into her - okay, I wasn't that polite about it, but still... and she _hissed_ at me." He shook his head. "I don't get it. I didn't cheat on her, or talk about her behind her back or anything of the sort."

"Ivan is here," Matthew said softly.

"Huh?" Ariel looked confused.

"Well, whatever we may think of it, Natalia has a special relationship with her brother. He is very important to her. My guess would be that she doesn't want Ivan to know about her relationship with you. Maybe the possibility of him learning of it was enough to cause her to snap. She is not the most stable among us."

"That's no reason to attack me, is it?" Ariel protested.

"I'm not Natalia, so don't ask me. Maybe you ought to avoid her for a bit, give her time to cool off. And you better get used to the idea that she is nuts about Ivan."

Ariel grumbled something, stole Matthew's glass and took a sip. "It's all too complicated."

"Yes."

"Matthew...?" Ariel asked suddenly. "Are _you_ used to the idea that she's nuts about Ivan?"

Matthew frowned. "I'm trying to get used to it." _More to the point: I'm trying not to think about it._

He turned to look at his brother, who had been suspiciously quiet for a while. "Al? Are you asleep?"

"No."

"Just checking."

"Mattie...? Did you mean what you said about me... and Arthur?"

Oh great, so in addition to playing relationship counselor to Ari, he would now get an earful of Alfred's problems...! _Why me?_

"I'm sorry, Al." And he was. The fact that the problems in Alfred's relationship with Arthur had been foreseeable did not mean that the outcome would be any less painful for Alfred. And Matthew knew from firsthand and fairly fresh experience that having your heart broken was extremely painful and utterly undignified.

"That's not what I asked," his brother persisted. Stubborn as always. Matthew resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _Really, Al, are you asking for a punch in the gut? I would be happy to just pretend I hadn't noticed anything._

"Look... it's none of my business, okay? But I know you, and I know Arthur, and most importantly, I know Francis. Probably better than most others do. And I can tell you that Francis will _never _completely let go of Arthur, he's just incapable of doing that. Like it or not, as long as you're in bed with Arthur, you have to resign yourself to the fact that Francis will be there, too. Maybe not literally, but certainly in thought. And if Francis wants you gone, ultimately, you'll leave. You are in a relationship with Arthur by his grace, don't fool yourself. Francis has a prior claim and outweighs yours a hundredfold."

Ultimately, if you asked Matthew, if it was Arthur's fault. Maybe Alfred was too blind to see things for what they were, but Arthur should have known better. _Nine centuries of shared history. You cannot overlook that, unless you are deliberately trying to fool yourself and others. _Truth be told, Matthew was both annoyed and angry at Arthur for treating Alfred this way.

_What a mess...!_

Maybe he should speak to Francis and ask him to find a way to fix this with as little damage to Alfred as possible. Francis would not deliberately and maliciously hurt Alfred, but he might do so by negligence. For the longest time, Francis had been an estranged parent when it came to Alfred. They treated each other friendly and civilly enough, but there was no warmth between them, no mutual affection. They were too different. Alfred didn't understand and Francis didn't care.

"This seems to be a bad season for relationships," Ariel summed up the mood.

Matthew and Alfred agreed with him.

* * *

><p>The conference was opened with a multitude of solemn and rather repetitive speeches and a festive dinner. Matthew tried to get a seat next to Francis, but ended up between Feliks and Ariel. He was listlessly toying with the appetizer, when he noticed that Ivan was frowning at him from across the table. It wasn't difficult to imagine why. Obviously, Ivan was not happy with Matthew's choice to avoid trouble by pretending to ignore him.<p>

Matthew wasn't particularly happy with it, either, but it seemed the safer choice. "I'm sorry," he mouthed silently, hoping that his face would convey an adequately apologetic expression.

Ivan was still frowning.

_Oh boy. So now he's upset and sulking. Great, just great._

The main course arrived, and Matthew more or less ignored it, but Feliks tugging at his sleeve was a lot harder to ignore. "Matthew," he whispered urgently, "Ivan, he... well, he looks _mad._" Feliks was trembling slightly as he said it. If you asked Matthew, he was suffering from a rather severe case of PTSD when it came to Ivan.

"He'll get over it," Matthew tried to reassure him. "He is just annoyed because I won't sit with him."

"Are you sure?" Feliks asked uncertainly. "Maybe you should go and sit with him, then?"

"And upset Alfred, too? No, thank you. One pouting super power is quite enough."

"But Matthew... Ivan gets unreasonable when he is mad. And quite nasty." The expression on Feliks' pretty face was decidedly nauseous.

_Ivan, what did you do to that poor boy...? He is trembling like a leaf!_

Matthew gently put a hand on Feliks' arm. "Feliks, don't worry about me. I can handle Ivan's moods, and besides, he won't lift a finger to harm me. The last time I got hurt nearly scared him out of his wits."

"_He hurt you?"_ Feliks asked sharply. There was no surprise in his voice, just disappointment and something darker, something sharp-clawed and toothy, capable of invading the worst of your dreams. Matthew shuddered inwardly. He knew that Ivan had broken something inside Feliks, shattered it forever, but knowing and actually seeing it for yourself were two different things. Helpless anger boiled up inside him, but he didn't even know at whom it was directed.

_We are all fools..._

"He certainly believed he did," he answered Feliks' question. "It was a... misunderstanding. Ivan has some difficulties when it comes to recognizing informed consent, probably because he's not used to it." It was Matthew's turn to glare now. Ivan looked surprised, if anything.

"You are _insane_," Feliks breathed incredulously.

"A bit, yes. Aren't we all?" Matthew sighed, urged his lips into a careful, conciliatory smile, and directed it at Ivan. Ivan frowned, shook his head and finally turned his burning gaze away.

"There you go," Matthew muttered under his breath. Next to him, Ariel wash pushing his food around on his plate without touching it. Matthew looked around, but Natalia was nowhere to be seen, which was probably the reason for Ari's bad mood.

"I'm sure she'll come around eventually, Ari. And for what it's worth, I don't think Ivan would mind you dating his sister. Quite the opposite, actually, he wants her to get out more and meet other people." _And to stop throwing herself at him and making sexual advances that are decidedly inappropriate..._

Ariel did not reply.

Matthew sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot today.

* * *

><p>Ivan intercepted him as he passed through the doorway that led outside onto a large terrace. He probably should have anticipated the ambush, but it gave him a start nevertheless.<p>

Long fingers closed around his arm, strong and insistent. Not yet digging into his flesh, but prepared to do so if he struggled. "Not so fast," Ivan said quietly. "You haven't even said hello."

"Hello," Matthew deadpanned. "Ivan... this is neither the time nor the place. I did not mean to offend you, and I hate having to pretend that you aren't in the room, but I don't have much of a choice, do I? Everybody is watching us. And Roderich isn't here to mediate and act as a fig leaf."

Ivan did not loosen his grip. "Why do you care, Matvey?" It could have been honest curiosity, but Matthew wasn't fooled.

"Because I don't enjoy being a pariah," he snapped. "I'm not like you, Ivan, I want people to actually like me and I cannot simply shrug it off when they don't."

Ivan's expression softened slightly. "You have a gentle heart."

"Maybe. Speaking of gentle hearts, what the hell did you do to Feliks? He is a wreck." He remembered the trembling Pole and the anger returned, unreasonable and destructive.

Ivan drew a sharp breath. "Do _not _go there."

"Oh, but I will," Matthew assured him. "And one day you are going to tell me. All of it. All of the dark things that lurk beneath the surface, all of the pain and the suffering and the destruction. I have seen your demons, Ivan. They don't scare me. But I need to know."

Ivan briefly closed his eyes. "No. You would despise me."

Matthew shrugged. "I always knew what you were capable of. That's not to say I like having it shoved into my face, but I can deal with it... somehow." He looked up at Ivan, and his gaze was fierce. "You won't break _me_."

"No, I won't," Ivan agreed, and finally let go of his arm. He placed his hands on Matthew's shoulders and drew him closer.

"Don't," Matthew said, but it lacked conviction. Ivan smiled faintly, pulled him closer still and kissed him. Kissed him _very _thoroughly. Matthew did not protest anymore.

Unfortunately, others had seen the terrace, too and decided to get some fresh air - well, as fresh as the air in Beijing ever got - after dinner.

"Matthew!" Arthur's voice conveyed all the disapproval a voice could carry.

"Vanya!" Natalia's exclamation came closer to despair than to disapproval.

_Oh great...!_

Matthew squirmed in Ivan's grip and glared at him. "You just had to do that, didn't you?"


End file.
